


"Apparently I'm moving to Islington."

by wordsphoenix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A wild Ron appears, Auror Harry, Committee for Experimental Charms Draco, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Fluff, Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry and Draco both work for the Ministry, Hermione is also present, M/M, NO JUST THE SWEARING, PLEASE TAKE THIS, Swearing, THE ONLY ADULT CONTENT IS SWEARING, and suggestive language obvs, draco is the one who swears, fluff with a hint of plot, many dates, mostly it's just Harry and Draco though, pov switching, unless...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:20:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsphoenix/pseuds/wordsphoenix
Summary: Harry and Draco have to work together to stop some criminal. And then Harry realizes Draco could really be of help on a different case. And Draco runs into Harry and figures he might as well ask about the problem that's got Experimental Charms and Misuse of Muggle Artifacts completely confused. And then Draco decides maybe they should be friends so he asks Harry to dinner for this purpose. Except, two or three or ten dinners later...This fic will be LONG, FLUFFY, and POV-SWITCHING. I hope you enjoy it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is hopefully modeled after the slow burn I complain about frequently but love more than anything else. I didn't actually have much direction aside from wanting the opening dialogue to be... well, what I hope it is, characteristic and fast, and then along the way in the rest of the story I would occasionally jump and say "they need to be here in the relationship" and apart from that it's just Harry and Draco taking over the story because I stopped telling them what to say when Harry dropped that awful pickup line in one of the earlier chapters.

           “Potter!”

            It was Malfoy. Wonderful.

            “We need to compare notes on the Apparition trap case.”

            With a sigh, Harry turned to fully face him. “When were you thinking?”

            “This weekend, ideally. We’ve been sitting on this for too long. The Committee’s starting a few new projects on Monday, so I don’t think it would be wise to put it off any longer…”

            Harry suppressed his instinctual expression of horror and reminded himself to remain calm. No need getting worked up just because it was Malfoy. “If I had known that, we could have met earlier in the week.”

            “Nonsense. You were out of the office every time I checked.”

            “Right.” Malfoy had sent countless memos, most of them while Harry was out doing field work. Of course, he’d been in for a few of them… “When are you free?”

            “Tonight would be best.”

            Harry sighed again. The sooner the work got done, the better. “Alright. Where?”

            “Well, they like to shut the office down right away on Friday evening, for cleaning, so we can’t do it there.”

            “Same with the Auror Office.”

            “I would suggest someplace around here, but I don’t fancy having muggles reading our notes from the next table over.”

            “No.” Harry sighed for a third time. “We can go back to my place.”

            Malfoy looked at him for a second. “Fine, then. Meet in the Atrium in half an hour?”

            “Right.” Harry returned Malfoy’s parting nod and finished walking to his desk. Meeting up with Malfoy to work overtime wasn’t exactly his idea of a perfect Friday night, but getting the work done right away would be better than having it loom over him half the weekend.

            A half hour later, Harry packed up his case notes and headed to the Atrium. Malfoy was already waiting, looking impatient. “Ah, there you are, Potter. Are you connected to the Floo Network?”

            “Yes. But I think it would be nice to have a break first, don’t you?” Harry inclined his head and started walking towards the exit. Past the Apparition points.

            Malfoy’s incredulous voice came from behind him. “We’re _walking_?”

            “If you get tired we can take the bus.”

            “Why don’t we just apparate?” He had caught up to Harry by then, and was following him through the exit despite the question.

            Harry didn’t reply.

            Malfoy groaned. “You hate Apparition that much?”

            “Yes,” he replied firmly.

            “It’s been years, Potter. We’re working a case related to Apparition, for Merlin’s sake! You do have your license, don’t you?”

            “Of course I do.”

            “Then why don’t we just…”

            “You can enjoy the trip this way.” Harry’s words were partially undercut by the blast of cold wind that assaulted them as they stepped onto the pavement.

            “I’d enjoy it if we were already there.”

            “I’ll buy you coffee.” Maybe that would get him to stop complaining. It’d be warm, anyway.

            “Fine. But I’m not taking the bus.”

            “I’ll have to carry you, if you get tired, then.” Knowing the look Malfoy would be giving him, Harry glanced over.

            He was rewarded by the sight of Malfoy’s horrified expression. “You’re not serious?”

            “Completely.”

            Apparently Malfoy could tell Harry meant it, because he blushed slightly and looked away.

            They carried on north from Whitehall, being quickly absorbed into the foot traffic that consisted mostly of other people going home from work. Despite his previous protests, Malfoy seemed to know the area fairly well. He seemed comfortable going up Charing Cross Road, crowded though it was with muggles. For a while they walked in amiable silence.

            Malfoy didn’t speak again until they reached Tottenham Station. “Where exactly do you live?”

            “Islington.”

            “ _Islington_?”

            “Yep,” Harry said happily.

            Malfoy groaned. “We’re not even halfway, are we? And why haven’t we turned yet? We’re practically going the opposite direction.”

            “This way’s fine.”

            “It’s not the most direct route. I don’t see any reason why you’d- oh.” Malfoy fell silent.

            “What?” Harry shot him a cautious look.

            Malfoy looked thoughtful, the sharper edge gone from his voice. He met Harry’s eyes. “You like to go this way so you pass King’s Cross Station.”

            Harry glanced away, hoping the semidarkness would obscure the fact that he’d just turned red. From the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy smiling. Harry braced himself in anticipation of whatever Malfoy would say next.

            But he didn’t say anything. After a few minutes, Harry risked looking and found that a faint smile lingered on Malfoy’s face. Malfoy looked up, smiled a bit wider. Still, didn’t say anything.

            Ten seconds into contemplating what this meant, Harry realized where they were and yanked Malfoy to a halt by his jacket sleeve. “Coffee.”

            Malfoy raised his eyebrows. Harry had stopped in front of a Starbucks.

            “This is fine, right? A lot of the smaller places close around now.”

            Malfoy opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it, and started over. “Lead on, then, Potter.”

            “What do you want?” asked Harry, grateful for the warmer air inside the shop.

            “Regular coffee’s fine.”

            “You sure?”

            “Yes.” Malfoy hung back as Harry ordered. Then they stepped over to wait for their drinks, and, Harry presumed, to bicker a bit more… “What did you get?” Malfoy asked.

            “A coffee for you, and a latte for me.”

            “What kind of latte?”

            “Gingerbread.”

            Malfoy stared. “Harry Potter likes gingerbread lattes?”

            “They’re festive.”

            Malfoy looked as if he were debating on whether or not to reply in his trademark antagonistic fashion. For some reason, though, he must have decided against it. Instead he replied, “Halloween’s all of October and Christmas starts November first.”

            Harry laughed. “Kind of nice, though. If we have to be cold, at least we can appreciate ridiculously early Christmas lights.”

            Malfoy looked out the front window. Possibly to hide the fact that he was smiling again. “Still bloody freezing out there, though.”

            “That’s what the coffees are for.”

            When theirs were ready, Harry added sugar (much to Malfoy’s horror), and they set off up the road again.

            “This isn’t decaf, is it?” Malfoy asked suspiciously.

            “Of course not.” It was absolutely decaf.

            “This is decaf. I knew it.”

            “How can you tell?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

            “Aside from the fact that you’re a terrible liar? It tastes different.”

            “It’s Starbucks, how could it- wait, how often do you go?”

            “Every morning before work.”

            Harry was scandalized. “I thought you had a stick up your arse about ‘quality beans’ or something like that! You started a fire in your office last week trying to set up one of those fancy muggle machines-”

            “Don’t be ridiculous, it was just a bit of smoke. And that was for the good of the office.”

            “It didn’t work!”

            “Someone at Misuse of Muggle Artifacts is sorting it out for me.”

            Harry shook his head and took a sip of his drink, smiling a little in spite of himself. Another sideways glance at Malfoy made Harry realize he was staring at his cup. “Want a sip?”

            “No.” A few steps later, though, he sighed and held out his hand. Harry passed his latte. Malfoy’s face contorted a bit as he tasted it. “I guess I see your point. But was the sugar really necessary?”

            “Yes.” Harry accepted his cup back and wrapped both hands around it.

            A few steps later, Malfoy asked, “Why do you live in Islington?”

            “My house is there.”

            “Your-?”

            “Grimmauld Place.”

            “Ahh. I was wondering if you were the one who had the house.”

            Harry glanced at him questioningly. Malfoy was wondering where Harry lived?

            That turned Malfoy slightly pink again. “It makes sense. Who else would have it, if it wasn’t one of my relatives?”

            “The only relatives of yours I know are Teddy and Andromeda.” Smooth, Harry.

            Malfoy sighed. “I haven’t seen my aunt in a while.”

            It took Harry a moment to process this, as he had been cursing his thoughtlessness for mentioning his godson in the first place.

            “You don’t need to look so shocked. I got a job at the Ministry, didn’t I? I’m perfectly capable of carrying out a conversation with Aunt Andromeda.”

            “Sorry, I…” Harry didn’t know what to say.

            “Have a complicated relationship with my family?” supplied Malfoy.

            “Yeah.” Not knowing quite what else to do, Harry took a drink.

            “I don’t suppose it’s getting less complicated, with you buying me coffee and all.”

            Harry nearly sprayed his sip of coffee all over the sidewalk. His face must have been priceless, because Malfoy burst out laughing.

            “Come on, Potter. It’s just work, right?” His voice went up a little at the end.

            Harry tried not to wonder what that meant. Second time that evening. “Exactly.” He sighed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about-”

            “Wait,” Malfoy threw up a hand. “We’ve just spent the past eight hours in the office. Might as well make the most of the break.”

            “Good point.” Harry glanced around to see whereabouts along their walk they were and realized they were passing the British Library. Almost at King’s Cross.

            Had Malfoy-?

            No. He was probably just sick of talking about the case. Harry couldn’t imagine the Committee for Experimental Charms had been talking about much else that day; it was a high priority case, and it seemed everyone from Law Enforcement to Transportation had someone working on it.

            Malfoy was asking a question, Harry realized. He put work out of his mind. “Sorry?”

            “Honestly, Potter… I was asking how late you usually eat dinner.”

            “Oh.” Of course Malfoy would be concerned; it was Harry’s job to feed him. “Er… It varies. I thought we’d just play it by ear.”

            “Right.” Instead of complaining, Malfoy took another sip of his coffee.

            They were just passing the station. It looked the same as always. Two archways of bright brick, with the glowing clock face in the middle. People coming and going, weaving seamlessly around each other on their way to home or shopping or a weekend away or…

            “Harry?”

            “Hm?” Had Malfoy used his first name?

            “If you’re done with your latte,” Malfoy nodded towards a nearby bin and held out a hand.

            “Oh, right.” Harry passed him the empty cup. “Thanks.” Had he imagined that flash of something on Malfoy’s face- some expression quickly changed when Harry made eye contact?

Malfoy strolled back over, hands now in his pockets. “It’s arctic. It’s a wonder we’ve survived. I don’t know how you do this every day. We are nearly there, aren’t we?”

            “Yeah.” Harry shot one last glance up at King’s Cross before leading the way forward. “Not much farther.” He offered Malfoy a quick smile, which was met with a scowl. So maybe he’d been wrong about the strange expression after all.

*

            By the time they reached number twelve, the sun had completely set. Harry was patient as the house appeared; Malfoy tapped his foot. When the house had fully materialized, Harry went up the steps and pulled out his keys. Malfoy raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment.

            “I thought we could work in the dining room.” Harry unwound his scarf as he stepped into the hallway. The lights flickered to life automatically, acknowledging his return home. “Oh, and you might want to keep your voice down. That portrait’s… easily excitable.” He nodded towards the curtains that concealed Mrs. Black’s portrait.

            “Ah.” Malfoy removed his jacket and hung it on the hook beside Harry’s. The hooks were a recent addition, one of the many small things Harry had done around the house in his painfully slow quest to fix it up. That’s what he planned to do the rest of the weekend, once they got the case sorted.

            “The dining room’s just through there,” he nodded to the door. “Can I, er… Can I get you anything?”

            “A glass of water would be lovely.”

            “Right.” Harry headed down the hall as Malfoy disappeared into the dining room, grateful for the opportunity to collect his thoughts. Walking through London with him had been one thing, but having Malfoy in his house was quite another.

            Part of it was probably the fact that Harry wasn’t used to having company. Though his friends visited from time to time, he had grown to think of the house as a sanctuary. Yes, it was ridiculously large for one person, but it was also quiet, peaceful. He didn’t have to worry about too-close neighbors or loud traffic or people worrying about how often he woke up in the middle of the night.

            And the house reminded him of Sirius. Of safety. Of the Order. Of their legacy, the one Harry was continuing in his work at the Auror Office…

            By the time Harry returned to the dining room, a glass of water in each hand, Malfoy had spread his notes over half the table. Harry darted back into the hall to grab his bag and set to laying out his own notes.

            “Now, then…” Malfoy sighed. “Where to begin?”

            “I thought we’d start with the first reported incident, since it was the first time the criminal slipped.” Harry picked up the report and handed it to Malfoy.

            “Good thinking. And thanks, for the water.”

            “Sure.”

            The report described a muggle sighting of a man who had appeared out of thin air. Investigation of the area revealed someone had cast a strange charm at a certain spot on the sidewalk. Malfoy’s Committee was called in to analyze the charm, which was discovered to be some type of signal. It would have alerted the wizard who cast it when a certain person walked past, functioning as an alarm or trap.

After a moment of looking over the report, Malfoy scanned the table for one of his own papers. “We went to work right after this trying to trace the person who created the charm, or, rather, trying to learn as much as we could about his wand.” He held up a sheet, but didn’t bother handing it over; it was a copy of a request form that had been sent to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to check the wand’s qualities against those of known criminals. When that hadn’t worked, they turned to cold cases, comparing the wand to those used by wizards who had never been caught.

            Harry reached for his own copy of the criminal’s profile. He was connected to a drug ring the department had taken down a few years previously. Unfortunately, no one had gotten a physical description until they found the muggle witness; all they had were a few pieces of evidence that had been modified by his hand.

            Malfoy accepted the profile, set it on his side of the table, and glanced up. “Given that he set such a complicated trap, you think he might be connected to other recent incidents?”

            “Yes. You remember the drug ring a couple years ago?”

            “Of course. Your office sent over their suspicions earlier this week.”

            “Well, we’ve found another link since then.” Harry handed him a sheet of parchment. “Three people connected to that crime network have been found dead in the past year. No apparent cause of death for any of them. The only signs of struggle appeared in that third case, where we also found a magically modified ring. It looks like the same wand as our criminal.”

            Malfoy studied the report and held out his other hand. “Show me the other two.”

            Harry obliged.

            “Were the rooms thoroughly scanned for traces of magic in all three cases?”

            “That last one was, but all we found there was the ring. Muggle police got to the other two crime scenes first, so if there was anything left of that charm we found the other day…”

            “Long gone.” Malfoy nodded and set the parchments on the table. “Do you have a location on any of the possible future targets?”

            “Just one. We were able to track down the person the criminal was trying to kill the other day. Anyone else who made it out of the Ministry raid will still be in hiding.” Harry passed over the profile of the man who would have been the next victim. “We’ve got him under constant surveillance. He’s been going out less lately, changing his patterns. He probably noticed the commotion caused by the muggle and recognized whoever it was that’s after him.”

            “I see…”

            They launched into discussion about motives, the potential of the criminal choosing a different target, and the ways their respective departments could work together to catch him. Occasionally Malfoy would jot down some notes; soon he had added a few more sheets to the table, and the semblance of order that had been there originally slowly disappeared. When Harry finally glanced at his watch, he was surprised to see they’d been working nonstop for two hours.

            “It’s getting late. We should take a break. I mean, granted you still…” Harry trailed off rather awkwardly.

            “What are you talking about? Of course I want to keep working. I have plans on Sunday, and I think…” He sighed, closed his eyes for a second, and opened them. “I think we can get through this tonight, if we put our minds to it.” Malfoy levelled him with a determined gaze. There was some challenge, there, too, of course.

            Which meant Harry would have been hard-pressed to refuse. “Fine. I say we stop for a while to have dinner, though.” Harry knew from hours spent pouring over cases in the Auror Office that it was unwise to stare at the same case for too long; eventually, you started missing things.

            “Fine, then. Where’s your bathroom?”

            “Up the stairs and to the left.”

            Malfoy nodded and stepped out of the room. Harry glanced over the table with a sigh. Their notes were an absolute mess. He tried to do something about his half of the table while he waited.

            “Potter.”

            The voice startled him. Harry turned. “Yeah?”

            Malfoy had the strangest expression on his face. Harry couldn’t place it. “D’you mean to tell me why you’ve got a copy of my family tree in your drawing room?”

            “Oh.” Belatedly, Harry realized that he should have warned Malfoy about it before he’d gone upstairs. “I, um, haven’t had much time to work on the house. It’s pretty thoroughly attached to the wall.”

            “Ah. I’m guessing that’s why you’ve got an easily excitable portrait in your front hall, as well?”

            “Yes. The house… It, um, isn’t always cooperative.” Well, if Malfoy hadn’t thought he was insane before, that probably would have done it.

            Instead of commenting on the fact that Harry’s language implied the house was sentient, Malfoy sighed again. “Where are we going to eat, Potter?”

            “I think we should get takeaway. Get back to work sooner.”

            “Fine.”

            Harry went into the hallway and slid his jacket on. “How do you feel about Italian?”

            “I’m going to pretend,” Malfoy slipped into his jacket, “that you didn’t just suggest pizza and give you the opportunity to try again.”

            Harry stared at him blankly for a moment.

            “Hopeless. Come on, then.” Malfoy led the way out the door, and Harry hastened to follow, uncertain what to make of Malfoy taking the lead.

            Harry locked up and turned to find Malfoy waiting at the bottom of the steps.

            “Where’s the nearest grocery store?”

            “What?”

            “Grocery store, Potter. Waitrose. Marks and Spencer. Dare I suggest Sainsbury’s?”

            Harry took the steps two at a time and started down the street. “This way.”

            Malfoy sighed, a bit more dramatically than the situation called for, Harry thought, and fell into step beside him. “And I thought this was a break. Aren’t we walking a bit fast?”

            Harry slowed his stride.

            They went the rest of the way in silence, apart from the two or three times Malfoy made it a point to swear about the cold. When they reached Waitrose (Harry had not thought it wise to test Malfoy’s mood by taking him to a lower caliber of grocery store), Malfoy strode off towards the prepackaged dinner section.

            He was reading the label on the back of some type of pasta by the time Harry caught up. “I thought you didn’t want Italian.”

            Malfoy glared. “I don’t know the area especially well, and it’s clear you don’t make it a point of patronizing local businesses, so this seemed like the simplest option.” Apparently he found the pasta sufficient, because he held onto it and redirected his attention to side dishes. “I presume you have a functioning kitchen?”

            “Did the water give it away?” Despite the antagonism, Harry started to scan the available meals.

            A few minutes later, after Malfoy had disappeared and returned with a bottle of wine, they continued on towards the registers.

            “Is the wine really necessary?”

            Another glare. Harry’s night was getting better by the second. “Yes, Potter. I find after spending a long time on a particular problem, it sometimes helps to loosen up.”

            “What makes you think I don’t have wine?” Harry couldn’t help but blush a little when he noticed the cashier’s amusement at their conversation.

            “It’s not about the absence or presence of the wine. It’s about the quality.”

            Harry bit back his accusation of snobbishness and paid for his dinner, which, he couldn’t help but notice, would have cost less at Sainsbury’s.

            Silence persisted on the walk back. Upon reentering the house, Harry shrugged off his jacket and headed for the kitchen, leaving Malfoy to follow at whatever pace he saw fit.

*

            By the time they finished dinner and had gotten back to work, Harry was torn between fascination and annoyance at tipsy Malfoy’s behavior. Apparently his idea of “loosening up” was saying aloud most every observation that came to mind. He noticed things that Harry didn’t think to pay attention to; the different colored paneling on one wall of the kitchen, for example, or the way Harry’s left shoe sometimes squeaked. The flip side of this unexpected willingness to talk was that Malfoy criticized Harry five times as often as he had before.

            On the squeaky shoe, “Really, Potter, you should invest in a better pair considering your line of work.”

            “I have to cast a silencing charm, anyway.”

            “Not if you buy charmed shoes. It saves time. And the legs on this chair are uneven, you should do something about that…”

            Harry was eager to see what Malfoy’s new attitude would do for the case. He wasn’t disappointed.

            “Ah! We’ve been going about this all wrong, Potter. The murderer is likely to strike again in London, right?”

            “All his past victims have lived here.”

            “Exactly! So, if we reverse-engineer the charm he used to find his victims…”

            “Oh.” In two minutes (and with two glasses of wine), Malfoy had found an answer they hadn’t considered in two hours.

            “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before…”

            “We were looking at it the wrong way,” Harry said. “We’d been considering methods the Ministry usually uses to track people. They’re not always the most reliable.”

            “No. Well, I may as well go in with this.” Malfoy stood and started gathering his notes. “It shouldn’t take too long. If we can get the charm to detect wands instead of wizards, that will be all we need.”

            “Wait.” Harry had struck upon another idea, been reminded of something from a long time ago. “We should also search records of juvenile offenses. The witness approximated an age…”

            Malfoy handed him the sheet. “Forty or fifty, she said.”

            “If we go back through the records of minor offenses committed by underage wizards during the time the criminal would have been in school…”

            “There might be a record of the wand somewhere. I suppose that might be just as effective. Although neither of our ideas is foolproof.” Malfoy slipped the last of his papers into his briefcase and snapped it shut.

             A hint of a smile played across Harry’s face. “I guess we’ll have to see which department cracks it first.”

            Malfoy smiled. “I guess we will. This has been… an enlightening evening. I can see myself out,” he added when Harry rose. “Is it safe to apparate?”

            “I’ll have to lift some wards first. Hang on…”

            Malfoy waved a hand. “Don’t bother. I can do it from outside. Goodnight.”

            “Goodnight.” Harry sat down again as Malfoy went into the hall to get his coat. A gust of wind shuffled the papers he’d been trying to stack neatly, then the door shut.

            Harry felt the slight pang he always did when one of his friends left. Well, Malfoy had been amiable most of the time, and he had agreed to walk…

            Harry sighed and set to straightening out the papers, glad he’d be able to return to his Grimmauld Place to-do list next morning.


	2. Chapter 2

            Malfoy’s team figured out the curse first.

            Looking back, Harry probably should have given it up as soon as he saw the record room he had decided to check. The place had hundreds of filing cabinets, each one filled to bursting with accounts of minor criminal mischief. Evidently, Harry hadn’t considered just how much illegal underage magic had been practiced since the Statute of Secrecy was implemented; even if he modified his search to the age-range and times of year when the criminal was most likely to have done underage magic (middle years at Hogwarts, searching only summer holidays), he would still have to flip through thousands of files.

            Harry’s attempts to get his coworkers to help him failed miserably. Most of them laughed in his face when he suggested searching that particular records room.

            “There’s got to be a way to narrow the search?” Harry asked Ron last, figuring he at least might be willing to help.

            “Not a chance. You’re talking about a load of files covering minimal offences- breaking a teacup in a muggle shop, blowing up your aunt-” Harry didn’t find that comment particularly amusing. “Look, Harry, I wish I could help you, but I’m swamped with paperwork from last week.  I can’t have been in more than half a day.”

            Harry sighed. Ron had been out of the office even more than he had last week. “Thanks anyway, I guess.” He turned for the door, determined to make some attempt before giving up entirely.

            “Good luck.”

            Harry spent the whole first half of the day going through records. Recalling muggle computer methods, he eventually opened a few cabinets and tried using Accio with different combinations of information. Half the time he ended up with a stack of files that still took ages to check. The other half he got no files at all, having clearly chosen insufficient descriptors.

            Malfoy came to break the news himself at lunch. Harry had pulled up a chair to chat with Ron. They were discussing Ginny’s latest Harpies match when Malfoy strolled over, a triumphant look on his face. “Well, Potter, it looks like Experimental Charms beat you to it.”

            “It wasn’t much of a competition. No one was willing to help.”

            “You _were_ asking them to search the most neglected records room in Ministry history.”

            Harry did not reply.

            “Anyway, we’re setting up a few of the charms around the city, in the highest-traffic areas. It’s not been easy finding times when no one’s around, but if a few of us put in overtime we should have everything set by tomorrow.”

            “Great.”

            “We’ll make it so that the alarm goes off in your office, of course. There is usually an auror on call for that sort of thing, isn’t there?”

            “I’m on tonight,” Ron supplied.

            “Marvelous. I’m sure I’ll see you somewhere in muggle London at three in the morning, then, in case we set one of the traps off accidentally.”

            “That doesn’t sound accidental,” grumbled Ron.

            Malfoy shrugged. “I wish I could say the chances were better, but… Experimental Charms, you know? Happens all the time.” Malfoy moved as if to leave, smirking, but then he paused. His expression neutralized as he glanced at Harry. “Good work yesterday, Potter. It wasn’t a _horrible_ plan.”

            “Thanks. You too.” Harry sighed as Malfoy walked away with a wave of his hand. He supposed that had been a compliment, coming from Malfoy.

            “Still sort of a shit, isn’t he?” Ron said, gazing at Malfoy’s retreating back. “Anyway, I think the beaters have been off their game lately. Ginny’s nearly got flattened two matches in a row, and she’s the damned seeker…”

*

            Judging by Ron’s sulkiness when Harry came in on Tuesday, Malfoy had been right about the alarms going off. This didn’t seem to matter so much, though, when they caught the murderer late Wednesday night.

            Harry had been settling in for a long night of noise complaints when the slowly pulsing light that Charms had installed in the center of the office started flashing and beeping. Based on the color the light had turned, the criminal had just gone past King’s Cross Station. Harry dispatched the necessary messages and prepared to head out. Emilene Mccrae, who was backup for that evening, apparated directly into the office, still in her pajamas. This freed Harry to head to the Apparition point nearest King’s Cross, having already Disillusioned himself and cast a silencing charm on his shoes.

            The area was mostly deserted. Harry stood stock still for a moment, taking in the scene. The Apparition point was twenty feet or so from the alarm, which covered the whole area in front of the station. There were only a few people about, most hanging around fast food places or waiting for all-night buses. It only took a second for Harry to figure out which one was him; man in a long coat, hands in his pockets, walking quickly in the opposite direction. Harry performed the necessary incantation to confirm he was a wizard, then set off silently in pursuit.

            Ideally he’d be able to stun the man without anyone seeing. Harry couldn’t wait until they’d cleared potential sight of muggles without risking the man apparating away. He had the advantage of being familiar with the area. If he waited a few more seconds, until the man passed behind that kiosk…

            Harry shot a silent stunner across the empty pavement. The man seemed to sense it just in time; he spun, casting a shield charm, and Harry dove to avoid the rebounding spell. He had a split second before the man disapparated- Harry cast Expelliarmus. The man’s wand went soaring. He ran. Harry cast another Stupefy and an Accio to retrieve the wand. His aim was true; the man went down; but Harry had to get over before any muggles noticed…

            A quick scan of the area revealed Harry had about three seconds before one of the people walking by saw the lifeless form on the pavement, or before a car pulled over; he apparated them to the Ministry.

            Harry sent a Patronus towards the Auror Office letting them know he’d returned, then levitated the man and set off for the holding cells.

Kingsley appeared at his shoulder a minute later. “Going in without backup in your first year on the job, again?”

Harry sighed. Though his third and final year of training had been spent shadowing well-seasoned aurors, Kingsley had a point. “I was worried he’d be gone if I hesitated.”

Contrary to the scolding Harry expected, Kingsley laughed. “Well done.”

“Really? Minister?” Tacking on Kingsley’s title was more likely to convey Harry’s doubt than the question alone would have.

“Absolutely, Auror Potter. Good aurors follow their instincts.”

“Constant vigilance.”

Kingsley cracked a smile. Soon, though, it gave way to a more serious expression. “This is a complicated case. I worked with many of the people who were involved in the drug raid. I’m sure you’ll get first shot at questioning, though, if you want it.” He hung back. “I’ll be waiting in the Auror Office.” Kingsley headed back down the corridor. Although he’d been Minister for a while by then, he still got involved in higher priority cases, especially ones connected to his own time as an auror.

He would probably stay for a cup of coffee while Harry told the story, before Harry and whoever had gotten his message started actual work. There’d be hours of reports and questioning ahead of them… Harry could only hope he’d get the rest of the day off to go home and sleep.

After a few rounds of retelling (egged on by Ron, who had apparently ruined his sleep schedule after his last night shift), Harry was not looking forward to the tasks ahead. He offered the raid team the chance to question the man first, figuring it would be easier to get the report finished with everything fresh in his mind. Ron offered help if he needed it, but Harry shook his head.

“Go home to Hermione.”

“I’ve let her know I’m just in the office-”

Harry groaned. “That’s worse. Next time we have tea, I’ll probably be hearing about how your inability to cope with night shifts keeps her up. Sorry,” he added, instantly realizing his exhaustion had got the better of him.

“It’s fine. And you’re probably right. It’s easier on her staff when she’s gotten a good night’s sleep.” Hermione ran an independent research group that investigated everything from muggle technology integration to modern uses for ancient potion ingredients. Being self-employed gave her more freedom than a Department of Mysteries job would have, though the Ministry ended up hiring her for consulting all the time, anyway. “Well, I’m off. Good luck with everything.” Ron did not look like he envied the report lying blankly on Harry’s desk.

Harry waved as he went out. Then turned back to the report, which looked as intimidating as ever.

*

            Following an afternoon of heavy sleep (and a few days more of difficult work), Harry was ready to put the case out of his mind and move on to the next criminal. While they hadn’t been able to deduce who the other intended victims were, they had gotten a motive from the murderer (taking out the people who knew his face and might one day turn him in) and apprehended the former criminal he’d been targeting. The raid team wasn’t too happy that their cold case was staying mostly cold, but they found some consolation in the fact that another of the loose ends had been resolved.

            A few days later, Harry careened into someone in the hallway only to step back and find it was Malfoy. “Oh, sorry, I- Malfoy?”

            “That is my name, Potter. Time for a new pair of glasses, maybe?”

            “Ha ha.” Harry was struck with the sudden realization that he hadn’t seen him since before their collaborative case was solved. “You heard about the case, I take it?”

            “Yes. Harry Potter catches the bad guy once again, Minister is pleased.”

            Harry turned red, half out of embarrassment and half out of frustration. “That wasn’t- I never got to thank you. For the charm, I mean. We never would’ve caught him without it.”

            That wiped the smirk off Malfoy’s face. “Oh. I… right. It was no trouble.”

            Satisfied, Harry flashed a smile and moved to sidestep Malfoy.

            He was halted by Malfoy’s voice. “Potter.”

            “Yeah?”

            “You did a nice job, as well.”

            Harry smiled, taken aback by the sentiment. “Team effort.” He continued down the hallway, and, when the urge to glance back overtook him, he turned to find Malfoy had gone.

Harry shook his head. Malfoy and him, a team effort… Not that it was _that_ surprising. The main reason the Auror Office was in one big room instead of smaller divisions was that the arrangement made collaboration easier among aurors. Cases got solved much faster, and everyone in the office got along well. There wasn’t any reason why the same principle wouldn’t apply when Harry worked with Malfoy. That night hadn’t been without its challenges, but Harry supposed they had to have some complimentary qualities to have been at odds for so many years…

Another mystery for another day.

*

            Or the day Harry realized the only one who could help him with his latest case was Malfoy.

            Someone had decided to start cursing muggle buildings. Whether it was some personal vendetta or a statement against the wizarding world’s increasing tolerance of muggles, it had landed fifteen muggles in St. Mungo’s, two of them in critical condition. Harry had been pouring over the case for days, going back to the sites left standing to investigate, interviewing the latest muggles involved before they had their memories wiped, and trying to find some pattern to the destruction. He knew there had to be something there, some connection he (and all the other aurors who’d attempted to help) hadn’t seen.

            The thought struck him when he was leaving St. Mungo’s, right after talking to a seven-year-old who had seemed to notice something off about the house before the staircase and front hall collapsed. He considered that the boy would probably find his magic yet, which got him remembering the time when he’d first found his own magic… Harry recalled a moment in Madam Malkin’s years before, and then he was thinking about Malfoy, and then he remembered the night they’d worked on the case together.

            Harry went straight to the Committee’s office, not bothering to send a memo ahead. Malfoy was at his desk, looking with intense concentration at a diagram on top of a scattering of other, equally incomprehensible (to Harry, anyway) diagrams. “Hey, Malfoy, I was wondering if you had a minute?”

            Malfoy jumped. “Potter? I didn’t expect law enforcement to need my help again so soon. What’s the problem?”

            “It’s not the Auror Office that’s sent me, it’s…” he sighed, becoming increasingly aware that the whole of the room seemed to be watching them. “I’m working on a difficult case, and I think it may be more involved than we realized.” He was bending the truth to avoid directly asking for Malfoy’s help. So much for cooperation.

            Malfoy sighed. “Can I see the reports?”

            “We’ve kind of got a wall dedicated to it. It’s pretty complex.”

            “Fine.” Though clearly annoyed at the interruption, Malfoy stood. “I suppose I can traipse out to the Auror Office if the lives of innocent muggles are on the line.”

            “Thanks.” Harry turned and strode out of the office, barely able to hear Malfoy’s footsteps behind him. Once they’d turned a corner to approach the lift, Harry stopped.

            “Christ, Potter!” Malfoy nearly crashed into Harry as he turned around. “Some warning would be nice! Why are we stopping here?”

Harry sighed. “Look, I do need help with this collapsing house case, but it’s not exactly- I’m not asking you for your Charms expertise.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Everyone in the office has been through this case half a dozen times, and none of us can find the connection between the victims or a clear reason they’re being targeted in the first place.”

“Oh.” This time, Malfoy’s expression was thoughtful. “I suppose I could drag myself down, to save the muggles, of course…” His second mention of saving muggles was colored by interest more than moral obligation. Eager to take on the challenge, more than likely.

Harry was still surprised Malfoy hadn’t commented on his need to call in someone from the Charms department to help him solve a case. Respect for the situation, maybe? “Thank you.” Harry certainly hadn’t expected to be so relieved in the event that Malfoy agreed to help.

“You’re probably going to try and get me drunk, so I do a proper job of it-”

Harry spluttered.

Malfoy’s eyes glimmered. “You are familiar with the concept of a joke, Potter? What I meant to say was, you probably don’t want your department knowing you got me involved?”

Harry grimaced. “I was sort of hoping to keep this off the books. Inter-departmental favors and all that.”

“Right. Given that I’ll be the one sacrificing an evening to do you a favor, I expect to be able to do so in the comfort of my own flat.” It was going to be harder to bring everything to Malfoy’s house than it would have been to bring it to Harry’s, where an alarming quantity of relevant work had already migrated over the week. Although it would be nice not to have to worry about dinner. Not that Harry had been eating regularly anyway. Usually he ate whatever was most convenient, often missing meals when a case got intensive.

Harry braced himself for Malfoy’s next words, realizing they were likely to be a request for a yet-undetermined future favor.

Instead, though, all Malfoy said was, “I’ll stop by at the end of the day to look at your wall. If I come late enough, this place’ll be deserted by the time we leave.”

Harry tried to focus on Malfoy’s enthusiasm rather than the multiple implications that could be drawn from his latter comment. “Great.” They went back to their respective offices, and Harry passed the afternoon staring at the wall with little success. Eventually he retired to his cubicle to look over his notes again.

Harry was struck by a wave of relief when Malfoy strolled in at quarter to five, causing the attention of the Auror Office to drift along after him towards Harry’s cubicle. “Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry greeted cautiously.

In a low voice, quiet enough that no one else was likely to hear, Malfoy said, “I guess I can entertain your desire for… discretion.” He rolled his eyes. Back at normal volume, then, “You wanted me to take another look at a case to check for signs of Charms?”

“Yes.” Harry jumped to his feet and left the cubicle, leading Malfoy over to the designated stretch of wall. “I don’t, er, expect to be much help, but if you have any questions…”

“Right.” Malfoy’s attention was already locked on the web of connected facts, photos, and reports spread out in front of him. He looked pretty absorbed. Harry turned to pop back into his office, figuring he may as well grab his notes and try to make some progress, when the swat of Malfoy’s hand stopped him.

His eyes were still fixed to the wall. “Wait. I’m trying to understand how this building collapsed,” he gestured to the second house to go down. “Did the muggle police discover any structural problems?”

Harry touched a spot on the floor plan next to the pictures of the ruined house. “They figured the support beam across that second story room was improperly installed. It was impossible to tell with the state the place was in afterwards. Supposedly the beam was the correct rating for the weight.”

“Mm.” Malfoy muttered something to himself about slow-acting Charms, then waved his hand. “You can go, I suppose.”

Annoyed at the dismissal, Harry went back to his desk. He loitered there as long as possible before acknowledging that there was a slight chance he’d accomplish something if he went back out to pour over the wall again, Malfoy or no Malfoy. By the time Harry went to stand beside him again, the office was almost empty. “Got anything?”

“No. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t disturb me.”

More attitude, Harry thought, wondering if he’d been right to ask Malfoy for help in the first place. “You go on ahead,” Harry told Emilene, who was hovering around her cubicle. “I’ll close up behind him. I was the one who asked him here, after all.” Harry smiled ruefully.

Emilene matched his expression, though her smile was more good-natured. “See you tomorrow, Harry.”

“See you.”

Once the door was shut behind her, Malfoy rounded on Harry. “Was there anything you actually wanted to point out on this chart?”

“Not especially.”

Malfoy sighed. “Let’s go, then.”

“You didn’t- Why didn’t we leave sooner, if you didn’t need to look at the case?”

Malfoy smirked and raised his arms in a dramatic shrug. “I wasn’t the one who asked for discretion, was I? Besides, you know as well as I do the kind of rumors Games and Sports would be spewing tomorrow if one of them caught sight of us leaving together.”

Harry shuddered at the thought. “Good point.” He followed Malfoy out of the room, shutting off the lights and casting the necessary locking spells behind them. “How are we getting there?”

*

            Whether in an attempt to mess with him or to demonstrate superior forms of transportation, Malfoy decided that they would be taking the tube back to his place.

            “What about the Floo Network?”

            “No fireplace.”

            Well, that had to have some advantages; Harry couldn’t count the number of times one of his friends had called halfway through a nap, or a shower, or when he was elbow-deep in furniture polish… “What about Apparition?”

            “Contrary to what you might believe, I am not in the habit of forcing people to do things against their will.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows, but didn’t protest.

            “You do have a card, don’t you? For the muggle machines?”

            “Yes. Couldn’t have offered we take the bus otherwise.”

            “Right.” Malfoy turned and continued toward Charing Cross Station.

            Harry hastened to follow him. Their slight delay in leaving the Ministry didn’t exactly cause them to miss the after-work rush; once they were through the ticket barriers, Harry grabbed the back of Malfoy’s jacket. He wasn’t accustomed to taking the tube, and he would rather not lose Malfoy in the crowd and have to start over again the next day. Malfoy turned and rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. He dragged Harry through to a Bakerloo line platform.

            “Where exactly do you live?” Harry dropped his hand as they stood on the platform, waiting for the next train.

            “Not far. Near Regent’s Park.”

            “We could have walked.”

            “The temperature’s dropped ten degrees in the last week.” Which was a bit of an exaggeration, but he did have a point. Harry probably would’ve bailed and taken the bus on his way home anyway.

            The train that pulled in looked jam-packed. Malfoy made a discontented sound and went to wait by the doors. Harry followed. A surge of people flooded out of the doors, and then they were moving in to take up the space they’d left behind, which seemed much less than it really should have been. Instinct more than anything had Harry picking a place to stand that was uncomfortably close to Malfoy. In lieu of being uncomfortably close to a total stranger.

            Malfoy studied his face as the train’s movement sent Harry crashing into him. Malfoy seemed unfazed. Evidently he was more prepared for the motion. Harry was not completely unfamiliar with the unfortunate shifts of momentum that occurred on public transportation, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating that he was constantly trying not to slam into Malfoy.

            “You don’t ride the tube much, do you?”

            “What gave it away?” Harry grimaced as the train slid to a hard stop.

            “I suppose buses are more merciful than trains. Although…” Malfoy gave him a strange look as the doors slid shut. “There’s something else.”

            Harry couldn’t possibly imagine what else.

            Understanding alighted in Malfoy’s eyes. “You don’t like being around so many people. Especially ones you don’t know.”

            Harry opened his mouth to tell Malfoy to shove it, then realized he may have a point. “Oh.”

            “Something about being an auror, probably. Not like you’d be able to do much in this car.”

            A quick glance around made it clear that no one was listening; or, if they were, they were doing a good job of hiding it. Still, Harry lowered his voice when he replied. “I guess I’ve never really considered it. Kind of easy not to, since I avoid the tube.”

            Malfoy was studying his face again. Brilliant. “It’s so much faster. I usually find it worth the minor annoyance.”

            In light of Malfoy’s (and Harry’s) revelation, being jammed into a small space with loads of people seemed like a bit more than a minor annoyance. “You might want to hold onto something,” Harry suggested as they approached the next stop.

            Malfoy shrugged. Either he’d cast something without Harry noticing to make it easier to stay upright, or he was really, really good at riding the tube. The latter seemed unlikely.

            Both of Harry’s theories were disproven when the voice announced “Oxford Circus” and Malfoy was thrown into Harry. Harry smirked as Malfoy righted himself and begrudgingly grabbed a handrail.

Harry’s moment of smugness was short lived, however. A few seconds after the train had taken off again, Malfoy said, “There’s something else.”

            “What? What other small telling emotion could I possibly be showing that would illuminate your understanding of my dislike of the tube?” In his frustration, Harry had risen his voice. He sighed and reminded himself that they were getting off at the next stop.

            Rather than respond combatively, Malfoy grinned in amusement. “Haven’t figured it out yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

            Harry stared out the window. Walls and darkness. He focused on one of the buttons on Malfoy’s jacket instead. Malfoy was a few inches taller, so this wasn’t especially difficult.

            When the intercom announced “Regent’s Park Station,” Harry practically lunged for the door. Malfoy followed him, and the train disappeared.

“I think I’ve got it.”

            Harry groaned. “Eager though I am to hear your latest diagnosis, I’d prefer it if we could get outside first.” Having Malfoy point out Harry’s psychological aversions to tube travel hadn’t exactly reassured him.

            “Up we go, then.”

            They walked back up to ground level, and Harry was grateful for the blast of cold air when they made it outside. He turned to Malfoy. “Well? I’m anxiously awaiting the verdict.”

            “I think you’re a bit claustrophobic.” The suggestion set Harry’s mind whirling, calling up memories he hadn’t thought of in ages.

            Dazed, Harry shook his head. “You’re probably right. I don’t seem to mind buses, though.” Harry decided he’d rather not read too much into that.

            “Buses do have their advantages, I suppose. You can see the city, though they’re frightfully slow.”

            “We have already discussed your feelings about buses.”

            “Yes.” Malfoy sighed. “My flat’s this way.”

*

            Harry was aware, as they walked along the park, that Malfoy lived in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in London. On the way there he expected it might be a sprawling five-bedroom affair, or at the very least the kind of expansive studio that eliminated rooms out of convenience.

            To Harry’s surprise (and unexpected delight), Malfoy opened the door onto a bright below ground-floor place tucked into one of the many repurposed housing blocks. The main room was spacious enough, but by no means large; on one side was a strip of kitchen with a dining table nestled up against a half-wall, and on the other was a living room with one wall entirely filled with books. A narrow desk, looking hopelessly insufficient for the stacks of papers piled atop it, was nestled behind the sofa, and the sliding door in the corner offered a view of a back garden with a small table and chairs.

            Malfoy went to hook his keys on a small shelf to the left of the door- clearly muggle, and clearly made expressly for this purpose- then proceeded to remove his coat and hang it on one of the few sturdy hooks, very like those in Harry’s hall, to the right of the door. He also removed his shoes and disappeared through a doorway, likely to put them in his closet. When Malfoy returned and cleared his throat, Harry set to removing his own jacket and shoes.

            “Where should I, um…?”

            “You can just leave them there.” Malfoy waved a hand, and Harry positioned his shoes underneath his coat. Despite the abundance of papers and books, and the lived-in feeling of the place, Harry found it possessed of a presiding neatness he couldn’t quite bring himself to disturb.

            “The only place it makes sense to work is the table,” Malfoy continued, picking up a stack of papers and beginning to leaf through it. “Just put whatever you’ve got over there.”

            Harry went to the table and pulled a sheaf of papers out of his bag, seeking out the ones that best summarized the case. The others he left in a pile at the corner of the table. Might as well keep them accessible, in case Malfoy needed to see the details. “Basically it’s a compact version of the wall, but with my personal notes.”

            Malfoy stepped over and stared down at the table. “You’ve been to all these places?”

            “Every one.”

            “Spoken to the witnesses?”

            “And the victims. Though all of them are muggles.”

            “Hm.” Malfoy snatched up the stack of papers from the table’s edge and started rifling through it. “I’m not one for weekday drinking, and I suspect this case will be easier to solve without it, anyway, but if you want anything, feel free to…” he nodded his head toward the kitchen, not taking his eyes off the papers.

            “Thanks, but more often than not I don’t drink at all.”

            Malfoy’s eyes darted up to fix him with a short, curious look. Then his eyes were back on the papers. “You don’t have to stand, you know. It helps me think.”

            “Right.” Harry pulled out a chair at one end of the table and sat. He didn’t feel especially helpful, but after his time spent on the case he’d memorized everything apart from the contents of the notes Malfoy was holding. After a few minutes of this, Harry went over to the bookshelf.

            “Put everything back where you find it,” Malfoy warned. He still looked totally absorbed.

            The collection of books was impressive. A glance at the opposite wall revealed a few books had been stacked on the floor, probably since the shelf was entirely full. Harry recognized some of the old Hogwarts titles and a handful of recent works that he’d seen passing Fluorish and Blott’s or skimming the review page in the Prophet. Harry found himself drawn to some of the other volumes, most of which bore interesting titles promising discussions of defensive spells or Quidditch history or, in the case of a rather large segment of shelf, Charm theory. “Do you enjoy your job?” Harry said before he could stop himself. Expecting a snide remark about interrupted research, he shot a glance at Malfoy.

            Malfoy didn’t seem too perturbed. “Yes. I’m guessing you’re looking at the Charms books.” He pulled two sheets off the stack he was holding and slipped them to the bottom. “The newest ones are on the floor. Haven’t got another shelf yet.”

            Reading this as a sort of invitation, Harry crossed the room to examine the books set neatly on the floor next to the TV (whose presence was not especially surprising, given wizarding news networks’ recent attempts to get into video broadcast). He was surprised to find his interest piqued by a book about wandlore, which he brought back to the dining room to read.

            “You don’t need to sit here. I mean, the sofa’s probably more comfortable.” Malfoy turned from the notes to the table and began placing notes on top of other papers, arranging everything.

            Harry shrugged. It was strange enough being in Malfoy’s house already. No need to make it feel stranger. Also it was still his case, he thought, opening to a random page. He glanced up at Malfoy’s noise of disapproval, but Malfoy hadn’t looked away from the table.

            Some time later, Malfoy stood back, nodded once, and gestured to Harry. “I think I’ve solved it.”

            Harry closed the book, set it on his chair, and went to view the table from Malfoy’s perspective. As soon as he saw the pages of notes on top of each of the piles, everything clicked. “Oh. Merlin.”

            “It was hard to find the common thread, but your notes are- well, they’re quite thorough,” at which point Harry detected something- begrudging respect, maybe?- in Malfoy’s voice. “The signs were too small for most people to have noticed them, I suppose. It was just a matter of seeing the consistency, the frequency-”

            “All the children showing signs of magic.”

            Malfoy nodded. “It’s not so easy to notice when there’s so much magic around. In St. Mungo’s especially, I’d imagine.”

            With a gasp of recognition, Harry added, “That’s why none of the family members got badly hurt. Apart from those two cases…” He shook his head. Despite having dangerous injuries, the two muggles who’d spent time in intensive care had begun to make miraculous recoveries. “He’s tracking down muggleborns and attacking them before they show signs of magic. But why?” Dark wizards tended to exemplify the blood-purity fanaticism that had experienced a resurgence during the war. It wasn’t surprising that they’d be targeting muggle families. Horrifying though the attacks were, though, Harry couldn’t ignore the fact that all of the victims lived, or that the temporary auror protection the Ministry was providing (until the culprit was caught) had never been necessary. Whoever was doing this, they didn’t appear to have any goals beyond causing the houses to collapse. “And confirming the children could use magic. Sorry,” Harry added. “I was just-”

            “That seems to be the only purpose of the attacks,” Malfoy agreed. “Although it shouldn’t be possible for this person to be able to detect magic before the Ministry or Hogwarts does…”

            “Experimental Charms again?” suggested Harry. He glanced at Malfoy, unable to hold back a smile. They’d made a breakthrough on a case that had had the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in a panic for the past a week.

            A reluctant smile crept across Malfoy’s face. “You know, Potter, I think that is a distinct possibility. I have no idea how they’d be able to learn the incantation, let alone modify it. Unless…” He spun to the bookshelf.

            “Someone inside the Ministry or Hogwarts. A former employee could have done it.”

            Malfoy nodded, pulling the volume he sought from the shelf and beginning to flip through it. “I read somewhere… Yes! That spell is used as an example here, though of course there are no details. ‘Wizards entrusted with the knowledge of restricted spells, in order that they may teach them, are the only ones who possess enough knowledge of these spells to modify them.’ Brilliant, Potter!” He laughed and snapped the book shut. Malfoy strode to the table and put the book down atop it. “I’m not sure what Experimental Charms can do,” Malfoy sounded breathless as he pulled out a spare sheet of parchment and started copying things down from the sheets on the table. “This tracking-people-down thing really is more of a job for the Auror Office, although I’m sure you’ll have an easier time finding the man than you did searching that horrendous records room…” he went on, still smiling slightly.

            Harry gazed at him with a mixture of amusement and amazement. He wouldn’t have thought Malfoy was one to gush over anything, yet there he was, hovering over the table, eyes bright as he talked about finding connections in unexpected places. Eventually Malfoy’s excitement died down, and he shot a glance at Harry.

            Immediately, a calculating look flashed across Malfoy’s face. Harry was sad to see the other one go, though he couldn’t have said why, exactly… Malfoy sighed, added another note to his parchment, and set it on the table, businesslike manner again in place. “Well, now that’s settled… Dinner?” He looked up, calculating again.

            “I, er…” Harry had expected to be kicked out once Malfoy solved the case. Given Malfoy’s expression, he felt like the question was some sort of test.

            “It’s getting late, and we haven’t had much of a chance to discuss the case yet,” Malfoy sighed and shot a glance at the table, face turning passive. “There might be something else here, some other clue as to who may have done this. Or why. Help us narrow it down.”

            “Alright.” He had a point. The more they went in with tomorrow, the better.

            “I’ll be cooking,” Malfoy said as he went around the table to stand in the kitchen. He looked at Harry again. “If you can trust me not to poison you?”

            Harry shrugged. “We’ve managed to get on fine so far.”

            It was impossible to tell how Malfoy interpreted the words; upon hearing them, he nodded and turned away.

            “Is there anything I can do to, erm-”

            “No.” Malfoy glanced back. “I’m perfectly capable of preparing a meal.” After returning to the task, he added, “Besides, if you could see what I was doing, you’d have a better chance of knowing for sure if I tried to poison you, and what fun would that be?”

            Harry smiled slightly and pulled out a chair, this one on the side of the table that gave the best vantage point to review the case. The pages of his notes Malfoy had pulled were the ones mentioning something odd about each of the children involved in the incidents. Harry pulled one of the pages forward, re-reading the line he’d written earlier that day, a note about the boy in St. Mungo’s having felt like something was wrong. In cases like this, Harry tried to notice as much as possible. Even the slightest detail could be the key to solving a case. Of course, this was what inspired him to go to Malfoy in the first place; Harry was better at working out motives, thinking on his feet, being one step ahead in the field. He didn’t always notice the little things, basing his paths of inquiry on instinct rather than analytic judgment.

            Figuring continual discussion of the case would be easier when both of them could see the notes, Harry decided to indulge his curiosity. “Did you ever think about becoming an auror?” He tried to keep his tone in the range of mild interest, well aware of how easily the question could be misconstrued.

            Malfoy’s chopping seemed to pause for a fraction of a second too long. He finished the task and glanced back at Harry, scrutinizing his face for what felt like the millionth time that evening. Finally, he turned back to the potatoes and said, “Not really. I doubt the older aurors would’ve been willing to work with me, and I don’t find field work very appealing. I’d much rather be out searching for ancient spells than dueling with dark wizards.” This last part came out fast, as though he hadn’t really been expecting to add it. And then, “Why did you become an auror? Apart from the obvious?”

            Harry smiled. He’d been asked that question a hundred times, but few people added a disclaimer; Malfoy seemed to want to know the actual reason. “I had to keep going. Not to keep fighting, necessarily, but to keep trying to make the world better. I’ve always been good at defensive spells, and I…” he trailed off, uncertain where his thoughts were headed. It had been a while since he’d considered his motivations for choosing the career he had, though he appreciated the reminder now and again. “It seemed like the right thing. Does, still.”

            Malfoy put something in the oven and took something else out of the fridge. “What would you do, if you hadn’t become an auror?”

            That was a new one. The thought came to him instantly, surprising him. “I think I’d be a Quidditch writer.” Maybe that would get the Prophet off his back. Loathe though he would have been to work for them. “What about you?”

            “I’m not sure. I almost considered going out for a position in the Department of Mysteries, but in the end, the thought of working to make slow progress towards unsolvable problems…” He shook his head. “I’d rather not attempt a puzzle with no hope of a solution.”

*

            Everyone in the department rejoiced at the breakthrough in the case, and Emilene and Ron had the man arrested by Friday.

            The aurors had been using more of the alarms set up by Experimental Charms, and one had gone off the night Emilene was on call. Harry wondered briefly how much Ministry technology had been developed from criminal experiments and decided he’d be happier never learning the answer.

            Like he and Malfoy had suspected, the man responsible used to work for the Ministry locating young wizards. He had developed an advanced version of the spell that detected magic earlier than its past iterations, and his motivation behind the attacks was straightforward: they were an attempt to test the spell.

            Even as he was being hauled off to jail, the man insisted his crimes were justified. “It was the only way I could be certain, absolutely certain. What kind of a test would it be if I only checked wizard families? Or if I had no way of confirming the correctness of my results?”

            “You could have waited a few more years,” Ron said, disgusted. “You should probably get this garbage out of here, Em. I don’t think our boss would be too happy with me if I hexed him.”

            Rather than risk being an accomplice to an outburst of Ron’s, Emilene continued to drag the man away, casting a silencing charm to avoid future such threats.

            Ron redirected his attention to Harry, who was hastily writing a memo at his desk. “Something important?”

            “No.” Harry signed the note and sent it soaring through the door. “Just something I forgot to do.”

            It had been a thank you note to Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

            The third time they had dinner, it was a lot less planned.

            Not that the other two times had been planned. Still, the third time was some combination of luck and coincidence, the universe deciding to throw Potter into Draco’s path at just the right moment.

            He’d been eating alone, stood up by Blaise again, some last-minute meeting with an international client. It wasn’t really surprising that Blaise had skipped out five minutes before dinner; he did that kind of thing all the time. That didn’t make it less annoying, though, and Draco considered abandoning the reservation a few minutes into the meal. He should have brought something to do in case Blaise bailed.

            Draco supposed he could pop out and grab a book from his place, though he’d have to pretend to be using the bathroom. The waiter was nowhere in sight. He scanned the restaurant in vain, figuring the man was probably on break…

            Was that _Potter_?

            The solitary man sitting across the restaurant turned. Sure enough, there sat Potter, appraising his menu through glasses that were only slightly better looking than the ones he’d worn in school. Draco sighed as the impulse overtook him, weighing his options.

            The Committee had been tasked with studying a set of charmed muggle objects. They had been working with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office for days with absolutely no luck; despite their having identified the effects of the charms placed on each of the objects, none of them could work out why anyone would want to charm them in the first place. Draco had a feeling this was exactly the kind of thing Potter would understand in a heartbeat. He seemed more comfortable in the muggle world than most muggleborns, and the other two cases they’d worked on suggested he was good at thinking like criminals in order to stop them. Not that this was a criminal case.

            Figuring his jacket being left in the booth would convince the waiters he still wanted it, Draco crossed the room to stand in front of Potter’s table.

            Potter looked up. “Oh. Hi.”

            “Hello. I recently got assigned to a case that seems beyond everyone in our office and Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Would you be interested in joining me and perhaps lending your insight?” Hopefully, Potter would acknowledge that he owed Draco a favor, anyway.

            “Sure.” Potter stood, grabbed his jacket, and followed Draco to his booth, still holding the menu. He’d probably recognized that the booth would be an easier place to talk, given their surroundings.

            The waiter decided to reappear a second after they slipped into the booth. “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

            “Iced water is fine,” Draco said, turning to his menu.

            “For me as well.” Potter _had_ said he disliked drinking. If it had anything to do with the press, Draco could empathize. Some of those Prophet reporters were vicious if they spotted an unlucky victim at the bar.

            The waiter disappeared, and Draco glanced up. “Shall I begin to explain?”

            “Go ahead.”

            Draco launched into the tale, describing each of the six objects in detail and skipping the unsuccessful tests both offices had performed. Partway through the waiter came with their water and to jot down their orders. Draco continued as if uninterrupted, “Some of the charms were repeated on multiple objects, and the hairbrush and the radio thing seemed to have the most residual magic in them. It’s nearly impossible to differentiate charms, the magic is so tangled together; the most we’ve been able to do is find the intent behind each one. As I said, all of them harmless.”

            Harry looked thoughtful. He was staring into space, clearly working something out, though if it had been within Draco’s ability to tell what, he wouldn’t have needed the man’s help in the first place. After a minute of Draco’s quiet foot-tapping, Potter finally seemed to return to reality.

            He laughed. “Ah. I see.”

            “What?”

            “Underage wizards.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Underage wizards. You can’t tell what the spells are because they’re not spells. It’s children casting them, which would explain why the magic is so confused. Between the objects you listed and the intentions behind the various charms, that would make the most sense.”

            Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The solution was obvious. He couldn’t believe none of them had figured it out sooner, least of all himself. “As usual, Potter, you never cease to amaze me.”

            Harry shrugged. “Glad I could be of help.”

            “I won’t be thinking about work all through dinner, at least. Blaise stood me up again.”

            Confusion, then recognition crossed Potter’s features.

            Before he could open his mouth, Draco said, “We’re not- we aren’t _involved_. He’s just over-concerned with his job. International finance consultant to the oldest wizarding families,” Draco explained in answer to Potter’s unspoken question.

            “Ah. How does he travel?” There was definitely a hint of antagonism there.

            “Floo or muggle transport. Brooms are unbearable this time of year, not to mention illegal across some borders, and a few of the international governments are picky about letting people in. It’s easier when you’ve got someone to vouch for you, so I suppose Blaise having slept with half his clients comes in handy quite often.”

            Harry snorted into his water. Really, a wonderful dinner companion, Draco thought.

            Of course, things might be more entertaining if he tested the terms of their camaraderie a bit… “He didn’t seem to have any preference for who he slept with, so long as they were within ten years of him age during his finance apprenticeship. In that light, your initial assumption might not be so far off.”

            Sure enough, the comment set him reeling. Potter was so easy to read. Amusement gave way to shock gave way to curiosity. It had been a while since Draco had spoken to someone who showed their emotions so freely.

            When it was apparent he’d spooked Potter into not responding, Draco continued. “If Blaise wasn’t such a prick, I might consider it. I’ve never had much luck with women.”

            Caution, surprise… empathy? “Me neither.” Harry smirked.

            Draco pretended not to be taken aback by the reply. “Of course, I haven’t met many wizards I’d be willing to court, either. Perhaps I need to lower my standards.”

            “Waiting’s worked just fine for me.” Draco was surprised by the bitter edge in Potter’s voice. The Prophet had had material for weeks when his relationship with Ginny Weasley failed, but nothing concrete had appeared since then. He had assumed, like the rest of the wizarding world, that Potter had started keeping his relationships secret.

            “Do all potential partners find your fame too intimidating?” Draco regretted the words as soon as he’d said them. He knew better than anyone how awful it was to have reporters dogging your every move; it had caused the deaths of quite a few of his past relationships. Things couldn’t be much better for Potter, good reputation or not.

            Potter met his gaze. “I think that’s exactly it.” There was no animosity in the response. Quite the contrary, he seemed to have some idea where Draco’s thoughts had ended up. “Fame destroys relationships. Though things with Ginny seemed to fall apart on their own.” Had the Weasley woman been the only person Potter had dated since leaving Hogwarts? He _had_ proven himself tricky enough to get around the press somehow, hadn’t he?

            But then, Draco knew the answer to that question firsthand. Getting around the press often wasn’t the hardest part. It wasn’t as simple as finding someone who was interested and staying out of the wizarding public eye; the person had to be _genuinely_ interested, not seeking attention or the money or renown they might gain if they got close enough. Draco sighed. “I’m sure there’s someone out there dying to get to know the real Harry Potter.” At least the wizarding world pretended they thought Harry was worth it.

            Harry smiled sadly. “I wish it were easier to find them.”

            The waiter returned, and Draco sat back, not realizing he’d been leaning forward. Both elbows on the table, no less.

            “Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

            Harry ordered some carbonated muggle beverage, and the two of them fell silent as they started eating. A few moments later, the waiter returned, set the glass on the table (with a suggestive smirk that Draco would have liked to remove from his presumptuous face), and walked off.

            “What is that?”

            Harry took a sip. “Ginger ale.”

            Before he could stop himself, Draco blurted, “Does it taste like real gingers?”

            Harry stared. Then, with a smile breaking across his face like sunrise, he burst out laughing. “So many years…” he gasped. “Never knew…”

            Draco half-smiled. “Sarcasm does often accompany a sense of humor. I believe this is the second time I’ve proven this fact.” He gazed at Harry with amusement, surprised by the enjoyment he felt at having made someone laugh like that.

A few moments later, when Harry was no longer in danger of dousing the table in ginger ale, he took another drink.

“Well?” Draco raised his eyebrows expectantly. “You’re the only one I know who knows anything about gingers.”

“Hard to say,” Harry said evenly, setting down the glass. “These days I prefer blondes.”

*

            Draco had found it hard to recover from what he could only assume was an attempt on Potter’s part to one-up him in their conversational sparring. He had made it through the night perfectly well, as social standing and family honor demanded of any Malfoy, but the fact that he lingered on the moment afterward proved Potter had managed to unnerve him.

            In light of the seeming cordiality the two men had achieved, Draco decided to arrange another meeting. Unlike the unchecked antipathy of their time in school, their recent interactions had been somewhat pleasant. With Blaise jetting off to Australia every other weekend, Draco found himself missing the rapid-fire exchange of wordplay and insults his friend could always be counted on to supply. Potter wasn’t his first choice, but he supposed getting back at him for the night at the restaurant would be worth answering a few supposedly-innocuous questions and spending an evening in a muggle venue.

            He’d begun to think of Potter as a friend, then. A potential friend. Not something Draco would have believed possible a few years ago. A brief moment of consideration regarding what might happen if the Prophet saw them in public was almost enough to make Draco reconsider; still, if the Prophet did photograph them, they would likely print some nonsense making Potter out to be a saint. Draco could see the headlines: ‘Boy Who Lived Reconciles with Former Death Eater,’ ‘Harry Potter Fosters Postwar Unity…’

            Draco had managed to stabilize the family name in the five years since the war, but he knew it might be generations before public trust was returned to the Malfoys. Mostly he had been concerned about being able to walk the streets without being attacked, a feat which had been achieved through public statements, large charity donations, and Potter’s own testimony at the Malfoy family’s trials. Well, his and his mother’s trials. Lucius was facing a minimum of two more years in Azkaban, having been unable to successfully plead coercion with only blood relatives’ testimonies backing him.

            Draco sighed. It was past time he answered his father’s latest letter, though he was running out of things to say. Mother insisted they stay in contact. Her efforts to strengthen the family had only grown more resolute over the years; recently, she’d all-but-replaced Draco as the public face of the family, freeing him to make the convenient relocation to London and advance his career in relative peace. Draco appeared frequently enough at the Manor to avoid speculation about where he lived, and his mother handled the press with well-practiced grace.

            What would she say about friendship with Harry Potter? Probably something about the renewal of old family alliances and- well- postwar unity.

            That made Draco laugh. The thought of his mother and the papers agreeing on something… A rare enough occurrence. Surely friendship with Potter was worth considering if it might inspire such an unlikely coincidence in opinion?

            Of course, it wouldn’t do to wait to send a request at work. Draco wasn’t looking for work advice. Didn’t want Potter to get the wrong idea. He penned a quick note and sent it off with his owl, Basileus (who had seemed only slightly annoyed at being roused from his sleep in the open cage atop Draco’s wardrobe), and got back to the new charm he’d been trying to invent.

Many past Sundays had seen Draco realize some finer point of the workings of a charm, allowing him to suggest subtle improvements to the Spell Invention Authority during a handful of lunch breaks. They didn’t often find it worth the trouble to actually change a spell, but once or twice they’d been genuinely interested in Draco’s proposals. In light of the general unwillingness to bend that characterized the Authority as much as it did other older Ministry subsections, Draco had decided he was better off trying to come up with new spells altogether. He wasn’t certain how useful the particular magical quirk he’d just understood could be, but maybe if he tried a modified Ascendio…

Draco was about ready to give up his efforts for the day, figuring he could return to them next weekend, when he was startled by the sound of Basileus’s beak on the garden door. Draco hastened to open it, and the owl swept up to land on his shoulder.

The reply was simple, and brought a wave of relief that Draco attempted to convince himself did not indicate he had actually been worried. _What did you have in mind?_

“Hope you don’t mind going out again,” Draco told the owl.

Basileus looked at him rather indignantly as he hopped down from Draco’s shoulder, annoyed at the movement of Draco going back to his desk to reply.

*

            It was ridiculous that a small slip of parchment containing the handwriting of a former enemy could make Harry so anxious.

            Really he should have been insulted. _I’ll be over at eight_ , the parchment read. Eight on a damned Monday. When Malfoy requested they have dinner to catch up (whatever the hell that meant), Harry had suggested they do it the next day- no need to spend half the week wondering what it was Malfoy actually wanted. Malfoy’s reply seemed to indicate that he expected Harry to cook, which really he should have known better than to expect after last time.

            It wasn’t that Harry couldn’t cook so much as he didn’t. Apart from rare vacations, he never seemed to find the time. Only if he happened to have the ingredients, and if work was slow enough for him not to have brought anything home with him, neither of which was the case that Monday, did he make full use of the kitchen. Harry would have to stop for groceries on the way home. Not to mention figuring out what exactly he was going to make…

            Harry was sitting at his desk, pretending to be working on paperwork to do with some case they’d solved last week, when the idea came to him. He knew exactly what he was going to make for dinner that night.

            The rest of the day seemed to pass much quicker once his dilemma was solved. Harry found himself looking forward to the evening, one which now held the promise of a delicious joke at Malfoy’s expense.

*

            The Apparition point nearest his flat wasn’t near enough, because, by the time Draco stepped through the door, it was already 5:23 pm.

            He had so much to _do_. Potter’s suggesting Monday had been convenient, as it was the only day that week Draco was free, but Draco’s agreeing to it meant he only had two and a half hours to accomplish a week’s worth of chores and cleaning. This in addition to preparing for the evening, which, given the importance of this first casual meeting, would have to be done with the utmost care.

            Draco threw his briefcase on the sofa and hastily hung his jacket. He left his shoes in the entryway, since he’d probably be wearing the same ones later, anyway. What took longest? Laundry. No chance of finishing if he didn’t start right away. With a quick bit of spellwork, Draco had his things in the muggle machine in a few minutes. If the slacks he’d been meaning to wear didn’t dry in time, a simple spell would suffice.

            Next he had to clean Basileus’s cage, which was made more difficult by the fact that the owl refused to vacate it. Draco felt a slight pang of guilt at the realization that he was the reason his owl was so exhausted… Fine. He could clean the damned thing later, after Basil had gone out for the night. Although it was basically night already, dark as it was outside.

            What else? He had to clean the bathroom, recast the wards on the muggle television (which still needed some despite the new Ministry department’s best efforts), write a letter to some great-aunt whose birthday it was, after which Basil would hopefully be awake…

            The accomplishment of these tasks took until 6:43 pm. Draco would need to leave by 7:30 to make sure he had enough time to take the tube to Potter’s house. He’d also have to set aside a half hour to shower, because Draco never felt right on a first date without-

            What was he thinking? Going to Potter’s house in anticipation of future good press wasn’t a _date_. He could maybe call it a first impression, given that their past meetings had all had to do with work, but it absolutely was not-

            Draco showered anyway. 7:20 pm. A drying spell fixed the pants, but he still had to decide on the rest of his clothes.

            Draco rushed out of his flat at 7:40, resolving not to let his lateness frustrate him.

            It was just dinner with Harry Potter. Nothing more.

*

            The fourth time they had dinner Harry was prepared.

            He had just enough time to cook after getting back to the grocery store, which worked out fine, except he also had to locate non-mismatched dishes and silverware, which took extra time, but was worth it if only for the fact that it would make the whole thing that much more absurd.

            When Malfoy rang the doorbell, Harry was ready; he darted upstairs, invited him in, and suggested he come down to advise on the finishing touches to dinner.

            On the stairs he said, “Something smells good, Potter,” and at the bottom of them he groaned.

            Harry was making pizza.

            He’d laid out all the ingredients on the table and par-baked the crusts, which he went to retrieve from the oven as Malfoy’s face confirmed he understood very well that he’d been made the butt of the joke.

            “Ridiculous, Potter,” Malfoy decided.

            “Which one do you want?” Harry held a pizza crust in each hand.

            “Why did you make them rectangles?”

            “Every piece is an end piece. Which one?”

            Malfoy chose, and Harry set it in front of him and then got to work on his own pizza. “You know,” Malfoy said, “I’m not sure this really counts as cooking, having your guest do all the work.”

            “Fine.” Harry pushed his hands away and gave him a pleasant look. “What do you want on your pizza?”

*

            They talked about so many things. At first Draco was surprised Potter was a decent conversation partner (aside from the obvious exchange of insults), but as time went on he recalled the free time they’d had after solving cases and realized they always seemed to have something to talk about. Even the stretches of silence, often awkward with other people, felt comfortable; neither of them needed to fill the space, and when it was time to talk of again, one of them picked up the conversation effortlessly as if they’d never stopped.

            It was brilliant. And terrifying.

            Brilliant because Draco hadn’t really realized how lonely he’d been getting with his friends off developing careers and seeing the world. Terrifying for the same reason, terrifying because he never in a million years would have expected it was so easy to talk with Potter.

            At one point he even blurted, “Shame we didn’t figure out years ago talking was easier than glaring.”

            Harry laughed and replied, “It is, isn’t it?” And the way he smiled, so easy (everything was easy with him- whether because Draco found he didn’t want to try so hard or because he knew he didn’t need to), so relaxed, like he was genuinely enjoying himself even though Draco had to have insulted him at least fifteen times before they were halfway through dinner.

            Of course, Harry gave as well as he took. Another of those moments like the one that had Draco so worked up the other day, even, though he seemed somehow reluctant to do it and didn’t again for the rest of dinner. Draco couldn’t even remember what he’d said. Just that feeling, the slight thrill of- of- what? New friendship? Good friendship? Being able to talk like that with someone without- without anything cropping up and getting in the way. Without having to worry about touching on some tricky subject and offending someone, or bringing up that thing they were never decent at discussing and having to sit through the response or try to save the situation because of some stupid mention, some accident-

            That was it. Because, even though they never seemed to hit on anything too serious (like the future, or the war), Draco knew from the few times they skirted those topics that if he had brought one up, they would be able to discuss it in much the same way they discussed everything else. Effortlessly, easily, without worrying about offending the other. Just talking. Just talking.

            When one of them was finally compelled to check a clock (Harry, he thought it was, but could never remember this either), they discovered it was eleven.

            “Well,” Draco said rather awkwardly (because he didn’t want the discussion to end, it was one of those wonderful ones without time that carries on until reality forces its way back in and everything goes back to-), “I’d better be going.”

            “Yeah. I’d clean this myself on principle, but I think I might call Kreacher back here to help. My house elf,” he added at Malfoy’s confused look. “Or the Black family house elf. Usually he works at Hogwarts, but he insists on staying in service to the house, so…”

            “Isn’t one of your friends an advocate for elf rights?”

            “Hermione? Of course. But if Kreacher refuses to accept clothes,” he shrugged. “Normally I wouldn’t, but he seems to like coming back here. Usually stays for a few days.”

            Draco shook his head. “Disgraceful, Potter. Not even _I_ have a house elf-”

            “Expect it’d be annoying. Lovely little flat like yours. Ruin the relaxed well-read bachelor atmosphere.” He sounded partly teasing, but warm, too, like he appreciated the place.

            Even though he’d only been there once. Which, of course, was easy enough to remedy. “We should do this again.”

            “Yeah. I’m expecting things to be quiet this week, after last.”

            Draco smiled ruefully. “I’m booked up ‘til Saturday.”

            “Saturday sounds fine.”

            A bit taken aback- but, of course, he had to have enjoyed himself to be smiling like that- “Sure. Same time at mine?”

            “I remember the way. How about earlier, though? If that’s alright?”

            “No problem. Seven alright?”

            “Yes.” Harry moved to sand, but Draco waved him away.

            “Call your house elf. Wouldn’t want to remember some glowing insult halfway down the hall and wake your portrait.”

            “Right.” Draco tried to ignore the hint of disappointment, surely imagined, that flashed behind his glasses. “See you Saturday.”

            “See you.”

            The pang of leaving, and the flutter of excitement at the thought of Saturday (ages away though it may have been) were harder to ignore. Anyway, Draco didn’t want to ignore them. They were good feelings. Promises of something good beginning.

*

            The fifth time they had dinner Draco spent half the day (or the whole day) getting ready for it. He introduced Potter to Basil before the owl went out for the night, and they seemed to get on well with each other. Draco recalled bumping into Harry countless times near the Hogwarts owelry, so it didn’t really come as a surprise.

            The talking was easy again. Easier than before, even. Harry seemed completely relaxed in the flat.

            Draco checked the time at midnight. He worried Harry would want to leave when he followed Draco’s gaze to the clock, but he didn’t.

            They talked another hour. Potter tried to stay and help with dishes, but Draco waved him away.

            Draco hummed as he did them. That time it had been Draco making a suggestive comment, but Potter hadn’t seemed to mind.

*

            The sixth time they had dinner Harry took Malfoy to a little place not too far from his flat. They walked around mostly, Malfoy complaining about the cold but seeming to enjoy it in spite of himself.

            They didn’t spend very long together that time, since it was a weekday again, but they made plans and Harry found himself looking forward to them.

            He and Malfoy were starting to become friends. There was something about their conversations, about the way Harry felt like they could talk about anything. It was nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to someone like that. Ginny, maybe. Their friendship was still on the mend, lacking the ease it had had before the breakup. It had used to be so easy to talk to her. Harry had forgotten how much he missed it.

*

            The seventh time they had dinner Malfoy insisted Harry be in charge of food again, because he’d technically been in charge of two of those first meals, so this would make them even. Harry suspected it was just an attempt by Malfoy to get him to make pizza again. He agreed, anyway. Really he enjoyed cooking and was grateful to have an excuse to spend time on it again.

            The next day Harry was humming absentmindedly at his desk when Ron came in. Ron looked surprised by Harry’s good mood, but only said, “Morning” on his way to his own desk.

            Later, of course, Ron did bring it up. “Dare I ask?”

            “What?” Harry stared at him.

            “Well, you’ve been… chipper today. Any reason?”

            Harry shook his head. “I cooked again last night. Forgot how much I missed it.”

            Ron sighed. As if to say, Harry and his labor intensive hobbies.

            “What?”

            “You’re such a homebody.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows. “We don’t go out anymore because Hermione’s always busy and I no longer feel the need to give Rita Skeeter’s social column suggestive headlines about a certain dark-haired hero’s drunken misadventures.”

            “Come to dinner, then. I can’t promise it’ll be as authentic as your archaic cooking methods, but I’m sure Hermione has a few free nights this week.” He didn’t need to say when he was free. The office had been rather dead lately.

            “Alright. Which night?”

            “Wednesday?”

            Harry smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I’m busy Wednesday.”

            Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “Alright. Thursday?”

            “Yeah. Sounds good.”

*

            Harry must have been humming again or something because at dinner on Thursday Ron and Hermione absolutely interrogated him.

            “Come on, Harry. You haven’t been in this good a mood in ages,” Ron said.

            “You do seem pretty happy tonight,” agreed Hermione.

            “It’s nothing, guys. I’m making progress on the house- I actually painted a room this past weekend- and enjoying all the free time. Catching up with old friends, eating real food instead of-”

            “Old friends?” asked Ron.

            Harry heard a chair shift as Hermione kicked him under the table.

            “Yeah. No one important,” and it definitely did not pain him a little to say those words, “just friends. I’m seeing Luna this weekend. She’s helping me paint another bedroom.”

            “Luna does enjoy painting,” Hermione contributed.

            Ron still didn’t look convinced. “Okay, Harry… Just make sure you’ve got a color picked out beforehand. No telling what shade of orange the room might end up otherwise.”

            “I could do a Cannons theme. You can sleep there if you ever need to stay over.”

            This time, it was Ron kicking Harry under the table.

            “Only kidding. Besides, this place is nice.” Harry gestured around him to Hermione and Ron’s current flat. They only ever stayed at Grimmauld Place when they needed more time than Hermione could stand living in close proximity to Mrs. Weasley, who, though she approved wholeheartedly of their relationship, didn’t exactly make it easy for them to live with her.

            “We’re hoping we don’t have to move because of another mysterious family emergency or building code violation,” Hermione said. They had terrible luck with flats; it seemed they had yet to find a decent landlord, though this one seemed promising.

            “Well, if you do need a place…”

            “Yes, yes, we know, Harry.” Hermione’s smile was annoyed, but fond.

            “Maybe then I’d finally understand why stripping hundred-year-old wallpaper makes you happy,” Ron said.

            “Yeah.” Harry didn’t mention that the wallpaper stripping was not something he particularly enjoyed, satisfying though it was to see the stuff go. “Maybe.”

*

            These dinner things were turning out to be better than originally expected. Draco actually found himself looking forward to them, even when all Harry did was drag him around Islington for two hours in the cold. The pizza had most definitely made up for it. And the cheesecake he brought, unsolicited to their eighth meeting, when Draco cooked again. He even let Harry help a little with cooking, that time.

            Draco had been meaning to visit a certain popular new muggle restaurant located conveniently halfway between their places, but Harry really seemed to like his flat. Next time, Draco promised himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unrequited no longer~

            The tenth time they had dinner Draco looked at Harry, Harry freaking Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, Harry sitting at the table across from him, and finally accepted he had a hopeless crush on him, whatever future torment this acceptance might entail.

            His realization made Draco realize how date-like their encounters were. Always dinner. Cooking for each other more than half the time. Talking and talking and talking and making too much eye contact now he thought to notice it. Like now. Harry was listening intently. Every so often it seemed his eyes slipped down to catch on Draco’s lips before moving back up to linger on his eyes. For too long. More eye contact than someone really made when it wasn’t a date.

            But Harry couldn’t possibly- he couldn’t possibly feel the same way about any of it. Yes, Draco acknowledged, he had seemed to enjoy their meetings, and yes, they were close, but they never talked about- never even _approached_ discussing-

            And of course now that he realized he was head over heels for him, Draco was going to be twice as nervous every time they met. Nerves which should have tipped him off before and which he initially read as an expression of his desire not to fuck things up with Harry, which in and of itself suggested romance…

            The rest of dinner was torture. It was a nice restaurant, and in the spirit of their meetings Draco offered to pay. Insisted, actually. Not that it was a date.

            “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m the one that dragged you here,” Draco said to him, and as he did he couldn’t stop himself from looking too long at Harry and wondering when ‘Potter’ had slipped out of use in his thoughts and if he ever addressed him by his first name aside from that first day. Draco placed a muggle card on top of the receipt.

            Rather than continue to protest, Harry raised his eyebrows at the card. “A muggle account?”

            “It’s just debit. Family accountant set it up,” which sounded much too pretentious and cavalier and he should not have said it.

            Harry didn’t seem to mind; he only laughed. “It’s a good idea. I wouldn’t have to visit Diagon Alley so often.”

            “I only go before I’m headed back to the Manor,” Draco said. Surprising himself by how easy it still was to share things with Harry even now he knew he was- easier, actually. Probably because he’d given up completely on pretending he didn’t see it.

            “If my house wasn’t untraceable, I’d have the same problem. I had to apparate partway through half of auror training to avoid being followed home.”

            The waitress came for the card, cutting off their conversation. When Draco got his card back (too quickly, and after a stretch of silence that was markedly less relaxed, at least on his side, than the ones he was used to), he stood.

            Every cell in his body was screaming to ask to walk Harry home.

            But he needed time. To process recent developments. “Well, Potter,” and he nearly winced as he used his last name. “We should do this again.”

            “Yes,” Harry looked at him curiously, and Draco took a slow breath to keep all emotion off his face. “Wednesday?”

            “I was thinking sooner.” Because, really, if he couldn’t walk him home, at least he could have this. “How about Tuesday?”

            “Tuesday it is, then. I’ll pick the place this time.”

            “I’ll meet you at yours. Seven?” This had become their new meeting time. Even then they never seemed to have long enough.

            “Sounds great. See you, Malfoy.”

            “See you, Harry.”

*

            Draco had not imagined something like this was possible.

            He was sitting on his sofa, staring at the wall, attempting to make sense of the situation.

            How had he not seen it sooner? The flirting- there was plenty of flirting. The way Harry’s eyes sparkled when he looked at Draco- how could someone _not_ find that enchanting? His eyes didn’t sparkle all the time, far from it, but when they did… All he could think when Harry looked at him like that was how wonderfully lucky _someone_ was going to be when Harry finally started dating again.

            Dating. Were they dating? Harry seemed pretty oblivious about that sort of thing, so Draco was betting the answer was ‘no.’ Of course, there was the cooking. How much effort Harry seemed to put into some of their meetings. And there were other, smaller things. The few times Draco’s mother came up, Harry’s eyes got a little softer, as if he were friends- Draco would have to ask his mother about that- and he didn’t even mention Lucius. Harry was thoughtful. Once he’d spoken about a coworker Draco had dated briefly. After Draco described the bad breakup, Harry didn’t mention him again.

            Yes. And that. Harry knew. Hadn’t Draco made certain during their third meeting that Harry was aware of his romantic leanings (or, given Draco’s avoidance of labels, lack thereof)? Hadn’t Harry reacted like- well, like he didn’t care? Like he didn’t care, either? Maybe. Draco would have to ask something suggestive next time to be sure.

            Next time. That was going to be… challenging. Draco was completely unwilling to instigate anything until he was certain Harry felt the same way. Which could take absolutely forever. Harry didn’t seem to be looking for a relationship, although their discussions confirmed he wasn’t opposed to one. Draco would just have to… what? Keep on with the suggestive comments and hope Harry’s reactions gave him away? Draco had the advantage there, at least; even with this revelation of his feelings, he was still much better than Harry at keeping his emotions hidden.

            Should he keep them hidden? Should he slip up a little, deliberately, to see Harry’s reaction to that?

            Draco sighed and went to make tea. Maybe that would slow his thoughts a little. It wasn’t like he’d never had a crush before. Hell, he’d had liaisons with some of the wizarding world’s most coveted heirs and heiresses. Even when he thought he had a real chance with someone, he didn’t react so extremely.

            Well. This was Harry Potter. Who wouldn’t freak out about that?

And he was Draco Malfoy. Which he had to hope wouldn’t factor into Harry’s decision where his past was concerned. Draco had hope there. Harry had been wonderful. Much better than the other people who tried (and failed) to get to know him after the war. Harry was… succeeding. In getting to know Draco. In a way no one had bothered since his Hogwarts friends. And Harry understood things differently. They hadn’t really spoken about their experiences during the war, but there were moments when Draco caught that understanding. Harry knew better than anyone.

Then there was the press. He knew for a fact Harry cared deeply about the people close to them, hopefully was starting to care that way about Draco. Would that make him more willing to face public outrage, or would he want to keep things secret to shield Draco?

            No. Maybe at the beginning he would. But Harry knew Draco was no stranger to the press. He also knew that Draco would have considered the thought of someone protecting him, especially a romantic partner, absolutely ridiculous.

            Draco smiled. There would definitely be some obstacles, but he could actually see things working out.

            Working out. With Harry Potter.

Draco shook his head and took a sip of tea.

*

            They kept going out for dinner, though on their thirteenth meeting Harry insisted they have pizza at his again. He’d tried to cook that week but had kept getting hung up with work, and it was better with Malfoy there, anyway.

            When they were done, rather than sitting around the kitchen ignoring dishes, Harry took Malfoy up for a tour of the house, which he realized he really should have done sooner after he’d seen the tapestry.

            “This place looks nice. Been fixing it up?”

            “Yeah.” Harry wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed.

            But Malfoy sounded… well, impressed. “It looks great. Is this new paint?”

            “Yeah. I was trying to keep things closer to the original with the furniture, so I thought with the paint I’d…” he trailed off. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was going with any of it; mostly he was just trying to make things warmer, brighter, without completely abandoning the feel of the house.

            “If I hadn’t seen it I wouldn’t expect the colors to work so well. You’ve done all this work yourself?”

            “Yes. I mean, I had Luna help with this room, and Ron and Hermione pitch in occasionally… The only thing I haven’t done is the back garden. That was all Neville.”

            Malfoy shook his head. “You’ve done a great job. The furniture, even…” he shook his head and glanced at Harry. “Never would have pegged you as the home improving type.”

            Harry grinned. “Easier to stay out of the papers refinishing heirloom chairs than bar hopping.”

            Malfoy laughed. His eyes were warm, warmer than the laugh really should have made them. Affectionate. “It really is lovely.”

            Harry didn’t know what to say to that, or in response to the flood of warmth that Draco’s expression caused to spread through him, so he kept smiling. Maybe a little too long.

            Draco didn’t seem to mind.

*

            Fifteen dates. Fifteen damned dates and Draco had yet to find a way to ask Harry if they were actually dates.

            It wasn’t a difficult question. “Is this a date?” Short, simple, to the point. It wasn’t like he was unfamiliar with relationships. He’d had plenty over the past few years.

            Of course, maybe that was part of the problem. Draco didn’t have the greatest track record when it came to lasting relationships. He didn’t want Harry to think he was… not different.

            Because he was. So, so different. So much more important.

            Cue Draco’s inability to gather his courage and just fucking say something already.

            He was pacing his flat again, having conversation after imaginary conversation with Harry. “What am I going to do?”

            Basil hooted.

            Draco turned to him. “Advice? I don’t have anyone to ask for advice! Do you know how badly this would blow up in my face if someone found out and it didn’t work?”

            His owl didn’t seem to have an answer, which only confirmed Draco’s problem.

            “Harry Potter…” Draco shook his head. This was getting ridiculous.

They had another date on Monday.

*

            “Harry?” Hermione’s voice sounded strange, like she was afraid of upsetting him. Which was not a turn of events Harry typically expected having a drink with friends in Hogsmeade.

            “Yeah?” Harry had been describing the renovations on number twelve, hoping they’d be able to come out soon to see it. He had also mentioned his surprise at Malfoy’s reaction, having told them some time before that they’d started talking; Hermione had seemed glad they were moving past their Hogwarts animosity, and Ron, though skeptical, hadn’t been outraged by the thought.

            “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps-” she cut off abruptly, and Harry followed her gaze just in time to see Ron shaking his head slightly.

            “What?” If Harry hadn’t been suspicious before, he certainly was now.

            Ron sighed. “You’re not going to like this, Harry. It’s better if you just figure these things out on your own.”

            “He didn’t figure it out the first time,” Hermione said, instantly looking as though she hadn’t intended to voice the thought.

            Ron glared at her.

            “I know…” she sighed. Harry’s expression must have conveyed that he couldn’t take much more of their vagueness, because Hermione continued. “Look, Harry, it sounds as though you _like_ Malfoy.”

            “Of course I like him, I’ve had dinner with him fifteen…” At which point he realized what she meant. “Oh. No, Hermione, it isn’t- I mean, if it were, I’m sure he’d-” Harry stopped. Thinking.

            “Harry?” Ron said gently.

            There was no way in hell Malfoy would be the first to say something. If he knew Malfoy at all (which, at this point, he was hoping he did), that would be too much of a risk for him. “Yeah?”

            “Alright?”

            “Yeah. Just… just thinking.” Then there was Harry’s side of it. Which he could not even begin to comprehend. Did he like Malfoy? Maybe. Was he willing to do anything about it? If there was a chance that- Hermione and Ron were staring at him. Not exactly great for deep thinking. Harry stood up from the table. “Thanks.” He pulled a few galleons out of his pocket and dropped them on the table. “As usual, you two have been very helpful-”

            “Oh, we’re sorry!” Hermione moaned, at the same time as Ron’s “Listen, mate…”

            “No.” Harry held up his hands. “I’m not mad. I just… need some time to think.”

            “Thanks for the butterbeer, Harry.” Hermione said quietly. His friends hated it when he paid, so the gesture was reserved for special occasions.

            This time, Harry felt like he owed them. How long would it have been before he realized it himself? “Of course. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” No need wasting precious mental energy working out how he was going to sit through an entire family dinner without slipping up and saying something about Malfoy. He’d have plenty of time to sort it out once he worked through how exactly he’d gone about starting to like him…

            “I can make an excuse,” offered Ron. “Some reason to get you out of it.”

            Harry felt a wave of gratitude. His friends really were wonderful. “No. I’m sure I’ll have it sorted out by then.” He hoped. Fervently.

            They bid him goodbye and he made for the door. Just as he was stepping away, Harry caught one last exchange between Ron and Hermione.

            “Why, though?” Hermione said in a low voice, obviously thinking he couldn’t hear her. “I mean, it makes sense, but how did he get to this point without realizing it?”

            “That’s what Harry does. He chases Draco Malfoy.”

            Which, true as it sounded, still frustrated the hell out of him.

            Hogsmeade was alight with life, Christmas shoppers fluttering between shops about to close, a group of carolers singing merrily in spite of the chill, a few stray snowflakes drifting down from the darkened sky.

            Harry just needed to be alone. He apparated to Grimmauld Place and decided to start from the beginning, from that first time, when he’d ignored the thrill of excitement at spending an evening with someone who might turn out to be a good friend. Or more. There had always been more.

            If only he weren’t clueless enough not to have seen it.

*

            The sixteenth time they had dinner Harry spent a very long time preparing for it, despite not being the one expected to prepare anything that time.

            He’d made it through dinner at the Burrow the night before without saying anything stupid, and Ron and Hermione seemed a little placated when he assured them everything would be fine.

            As he got ready, Harry tried to focus on memories of past meetings- or dates, maybe- that were reassuring. Each of the recollections that popped into Harry’s head drew his attention to some detail of a past meeting he hadn’t noticed before, but which, now that he’d come around, so to speak, very obviously indicated the date-like undertones in their meetings. The way Malfoy always seemed to be better dressed than the occasion really called for. The way he’d been selecting darker and darker restaurants (inspiring Harry to do the same). That flash of frustration and pain Harry saw every once in a while when Draco let his guard down.

            Also the way his thoughts flipped freely between ‘Draco’ and ‘Malfoy’ without any hesitation anymore. Like they were both people he knew very well. Like he understood how they fit together to be the same person. His-

            Slow down, Harry reminded himself. He’d gotten a lot better at reading the signs since Hogwarts, but that didn’t make his judgment foolproof. Harry had made enough hasty judgments in love to know he didn’t want to do the same this time and fuck it all up. Their stories had run parallel until now, and Harry knew for a fact if they didn’t cross just right there was no way they’d be able to-

            Deep breath. Slower. Careful. The last thing Harry wanted to do was get ahead of himself, but, really, how could he? They’d been on fifteen dates, after all. Or technically twelve, if he didn’t count the work meetings. Either way.

            Harry smiled. He was wearing a sweater. And his nice jeans. And actual shoes, instead of trainers. And his hair looked slightly less ridiculous than usual, which, as always, felt like quite the accomplishment.

            He grabbed his jacket and headed out, looking forward to the brisk walk and the anticipation he knew would be building the whole way.

*

            When Potter walked- Harry- when he walked in Draco stared.

            He was wearing shoes. Real shoes. Not those stupid trainers he had under his robes at work all the time.

            Merlin help me, Draco thought. He looked around the restaurant. Had he finally picked a nice enough place that Harry had thought to dress up? Should he go up and greet him?

            Harry was already coming over, though, and smiling- “Hello, Draco.”

            He’d used his name. Draco sighed and plastered a fake smile on his face, because, happy though he was to see Harry, he knew he was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. Because the sound of his name coming from Harry Potter’s lips was almost too much to-

            “Hi.” No, Draco reminded himself. This isn’t Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. This is Harry Potter, the stupid git Auror who insists on risking his life once or twice a month. Harry Potter, the boy who looked fucking fantastic in real clothes. Harry, the boy who Draco was absolutely enamored with. “How are you?” He stood as Harry approached, Merlin knew why, and they gripped hands like they sometimes did, but then Harry pulled him in for one of those half-hugs reserved for very close friends or threatening things whispered in a moment of opportunity. Except Harry didn’t say anything. Which meant he thought of Draco as close.

            Of course he does, Draco thought, frustrated with his moment of dazedness. He’s been having dinner with you for nearly two months.

            Still didn’t make all the butterflies go away, though.

            They broke apart, and Harry sat, and Draco followed suit, and they picked up their menus and Draco was about to start in on the small talk he’d been using at the beginning of each meeting to get his mind off how bloody beautiful Harry was, but then Harry took such a deep breath Draco had to look up to see what was so important that he say.

            “Is this a date?”

            Draco was speechless.

            Harry’s smile was infuriatingly calm, like he’d _planned_ to shatter Draco to pieces with _absolutely no warning_ like this. Harry continued, “What I meant was, would you like this to be a-”

            “Yes.” His voice came out sharp and clear, maybe a little annoyed, but he’d wanted this, wanted to ask Harry that same question a thousand times since date number ten-

            Draco supposed they were all dates, now.

            For a moment there were only distant voices and chairs shifting and silverware clinking. The calm smile remained unchanged on Harry’s face. Restaurant noises. Also staring. At each other. There was a lot of staring.

            Then Harry smiled wider and brighter than maybe Draco had ever seen him. “Okay then.” And his eyes went back to his menu like nothing had changed.

            The date went on as usual, then, except perhaps with more smiling and laughing, which Draco didn’t mind, and he really was furious with Harry for waiting so long, but, really, he didn’t mind that, either, not so much when he was staring into his eyes which had taken on that sparkle, the glint of affection that Draco had really only caught in a few moments but that Harry was now flashing full force without any apparent intention of stopping, and, really, Draco could get used to being looked at like that…

            All too soon they’d made it through dessert, and for one ridiculous second Draco panicked at the thought of having to leave it there and wait another few days to see him, but then Draco said, “Let me walk you home,” and Harry’s answering smile outshone the sun in its brilliance. Really that kind of smiling shouldn’t be allowed. It was dangerous and hypnotic and ludicrous, and Draco loved it.

            And then they went outside, and they were holding hands, which was also absurd, and walking towards Harry’s house, which made no sense at all, and-

            Draco yanked them to a stop in front of the station.

            Harry looked around. “Oh,” he said.

            “This place is important.” Draco didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but Harry always stopped for a minute at the station, and Draco thought he knew why but not entirely, maybe, and-

            “Yes,” Harry said, and kissed him.

            It was a very fast kiss, and very chaste. It didn’t last long at all. But when it happened, Draco felt something inevitably change, like a shift in the planets which allowed for cosmic harmony on some yet unforeseen level.

            Or like the beginning of something.

            When it was over, Draco looked at him, and there was this beautiful fire in his eyes which Draco had definitely never seen before, and Harry smiled and took his hand and dragged him around the corner to the Apparition point, and then they were standing in Harry’s house.

            “I thought you hated Apparition?”

            Harry smiled. “Walking wasn’t fast enough.”

            Draco leaned in for another kiss.

            It was much slower, that time, and softer, because there was no urgency in it. Yes, it was very important that he be kissing Harry right then, but Draco could feel through the kiss that Harry was content with the slowness. It was their first real kiss, and it did not need to be fast. Because it was a promise.

            Draco lost himself for a minute, or two, or longer. Finally Harry broke away. Too intense, Draco realized. Harry doesn’t want this. Not _now_ , anyway.

            Harry was beaming. “Thank you.”

            Draco smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been thanked for a kiss before.”

            “It was a very good kiss.” There was something in Harry’s face, though. The promise back again, thought Draco. The kiss was more than good.

            “Whatever shall we do, now?”

            Harry laughed. “I don’t know. Come on.” His left hand, which had been lingering on Draco’s neck, slid down Draco’s arm to stop at his hand. Still smiling, Harry turned and made for the stairs.

            “I thought you wanted to take it slow?”

            Harry stopped and turned to look at him. “How did you know that?”

            Draco smiled again. “I’m observant.”

            “Right. Well,” Harry resumed his dragging, “I thought we could take it slow somewhere more comfortable than the hallway.”

            “I’m not snogging you with that stupid tapestry watching.”

            “Who said anything about a tapestry?”

            Draco rolled his eyes, knowing Harry would assume he had even if he couldn’t see it. A small, thrilling realization of closeness. “You’re a terrible liar. Even with those renovations there’s nowhere else you could possibly be taking me.”

            “I could be taking you to a different room. This house has lots of rooms.”

            Really. He made it too easy. “Like a bedroom?”

            Harry’s fingers tightened around his. “Slow, Draco.”

            Delighting in the half-exasperated, half-anxious tone in his voice, Draco continued, “I wasn’t suggesting I _deflower_ you. I don’t make it a habit of sleeping with handsome aurors on weeknights. Makes it harder to get to work the next day.”

            “‘Deflower’ my ass.”

            “That’s the plan.”

            “Damn it!”

            “You walked right into that one.” They’d made it to the drawing room. “Really, Harry, you’re going to have to try harder than that to-” Harry cut him off with a kiss. Insistent, this time. Frustrated. They had wasted fifteen opportunities, Draco thought.

            A second later, Harry pulled back. “Say that again?”

            “What?” Draco blinked. Then he smiled. “Your name?” Somehow they’d ended up on the sofa. Or Draco had.

            Harry climbed onto the sofa to straddle him, his body obscuring most of the tapestry from view. His voice was edged with the same frustration his kiss had had a moment before. “You’ve been calling me ‘Potter’ for twelve-” Draco’s kiss interrupted him.

            Still, he had to oblige. “Harry?”

            “Yes?”

            A kiss in response. Also staring, which was much better now that Draco could match Harry’s expression.

            “Draco.”

            They didn’t stop kissing for a while after that.

*

            Work was ridiculous. Fantastic, now Harry knew how Draco felt about him. And now that they had another date planned a few days from then. Also awful, because they’d agreed after their extensive snogging session that it would be better to keep things secret for a while. At least until they’d been dating for a week, where friends and family were concerned. Probably much longer for the press.

            So they couldn’t be seen together. Harry couldn’t hop on the lift at lunch and go to Draco’s office and kiss him. Or talk to him. Or kiss him. They seemed to be in a period of making up for lost time in the kissing department, which Harry didn’t mind in the least.

Between Harry’s desire not to overcomplicate things before they really got going and his conviction that he and Draco, of all people, would have to be all-in for their relationship to work, Harry had decided not to jump into bed with him at first sign of mutual attraction. Draco had agreed. Although his comments were going to be a lot more difficult to hear now that Harry knew Draco _meant_ them…

Nope. Middle of the workday. You’re working, Harry reminded himself, not thinking about Draco Malfoy. Or his cold and remarkably soft hands, which had warmed on Harry’s face. Or the sight of his perfect arse as he Flooed out the night before. Harry kept the Floo restricted in case anyone figured out where he lived, but he’d put Draco on the access list immediately.

Harry sighed and set his head on his desk. Now that he’d actually acknowledged his feelings, and gotten confirmation that they were returned- he was going to be useless for the rest of the day, probably. Longer, if all he got was paperwork again this week.

The sound of footsteps approaching his cubicle brought his head up.

It was Ron. “Good news. We got a new lead on that smuggling case, and they want to bring you in.”

Harry sat up straighter and forced aside thoughts of Draco, attempting to remember the details of the case. “What’s the lead?”

“We think we found another drop location, might even be a place they processed merchandise. I’m supposed to lead you there, now, if you’re not busy.”

“Not at all.” Harry stood. Reliving the night before over and over again would have to wait. Field work required focus. “Side-along me?”

“Let’s go.”

Within a few minutes, they’d reached the Apparition point. Harry winced at the familiar sensation, reminding himself that, no matter how things went the rest of the day, he still had his next date to look forward to.

“Alright, Harry?” They had arrived at an abandoned warehouse. As if they hadn’t seen that one before.

“Yeah, Ron. I’m great.” Harry hoped his smile was the right amount of convincing. Date later, case now, he reminded himself again.

Ron didn’t seem to suspect anything. “Right. So, we found some evidence over here…”

Harry sighed and followed. It was going to be a long next couple days.


	5. Chapter 5

            Draco had a much easier time of it at work, now that he and Harry had finally _done_ something. Though the thought of a relationship with Harry was still terrifying, Draco found himself much more relaxed now that they’d started. He paged through the Committee’s latest project as his thoughts flickered back and forth between work and Harry. Of course they hadn’t had success comparing this charm to a levitation charm, it took a completely different approach… Draco should wear the black button-down to their next dinner, Harry seemed to stare more often when he did…

            After a few hours of this, Draco decided to go out for lunch. He would probably revert to thinking mostly about Harry, but, really, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

            There was also the future to think about. Might as well start working it out now, thought Draco. Wouldn’t be easier if he waited.

            First there would be telling his mother. If Draco recalled correctly, she’d had tea with Harry once, years ago; surely that was a good sign? The only mentions he could remember her making of Harry were mildly complimentary. And, of course, there was the added bonus of her reserving judgment (at least the type Draco could see) until actually having met whoever he was dating. Which, admittedly, didn’t happen very often.

            Yet he knew with complete certainty that she was going to meet Harry. Knew, even though they had really only had one date, that this was serious. It was why he was neither surprised nor bothered by Harry’s decision to moderate the pace of the relationship. Normally Draco would dive in headfirst and hope for the best. People found out pretty quickly whether or not they could tolerate dating Draco Malfoy. With Harry, though, things were different. Promising enough for Draco to want them to take their time. Harry clearly already liked spending time with Draco, and he knew in advance what they’d be facing when they announced their relationship publicly.

            That would take some planning. With mother. And Harry, obviously, but Draco’s mum had some connections at the Prophet. They may need to orchestrate some strategic leaks of rumors to the press, to soften the blow. And then there would be public appearances, and they’d have to do at least one or two interviews, and Draco would have to go back to the Manor more often to keep them from finding his flat…

            Draco took his sandwich to an empty table and sighed heavily. Dating Harry Potter wasn’t going to be easy.

            Well. Harry was worth it.

*

            Harry had not realized until Ron reminded him on Tuesday that he had planned to go to dinner at Ron and Hermione’s on Wednesday, which was perilously close to the date that it was his turn to plan. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem. Given the circumstances of the date the next day, though…

            With Ron, Harry could simply mention some detail of the case to distract from Harry’s clear anxiety. But Hermione was _perceptive_. It was all Harry could do not to blurt out they’d been right about the whole thing and admit he had a date the next day.

            It didn’t help that Hermione’s every utterance implied she knew exactly what was going on. “Really, we discovered much more than we expected… Anyway, how have things been with you, Harry?”

            She had to be doing that on purpose. Sounding all suggestive. “Fine. Finally busy again.”

            “Yes, Ron’s told me about the new case. Or, rather, the lead on the old case. Funny how a coincidence can come up and start something up again…”

            “Yeah. Strange.” Definitely on purpose, Harry thought.

            Ron seemed to sense the tension in the atmosphere, but it took him a while to catch on. Of course, once he did- “Hermione?”

            “Hmm?”

            “Was there something you wanted to ask Harry?”

            “What?” She looked caught out. “No, I was just interested in his perspective on the case.”

            Honestly, thought Harry. The three of them didn’t usually talk around things like this. Of course, he still couldn’t volunteer information, because he’d promised- “Nothing to report aside from what Ron’s told you. I’m sure we’ll get something new in the next few days.”

            “Yes, I suppose you will.”

Hermione didn’t attack him for the rest of the evening, although a few glances from Ron made Harry suspect he had a good idea of whatever was happening with Harry and his crush-turned- what? Actual love interest? Date?

Well. Hopefully he and Draco would figure it out the next day.

*

            “Have I ever told you how absurd you are?”

            “Often.” Harry pushed in Draco’s chair as he sat, having insisted on the gesture. They were at an upscale restaurant, one Harry could never have justified visiting without a date. Without the right date.

            The right date being Draco. “Not often enough, apparently.” But the fondness in his voice gave him away. If anything, Draco was used to Harry surprising him.

            “I guess I could stand to hear it more often. Though I’m afraid it probably won’t have much of an effect on me.”

            “Right.” Draco laughed. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of the venue. And the candles?” He gestured at the three clustered in the center of the table. “Your very comfortable sofas would not suffice this evening? Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he added.

            “Felt like a good idea. Now it’s conscious.”

            Draco raised his eyebrows.

            “The romance. Felt like a good idea to entertain it, now that we’re acknowledging it. And candles seemed better than tapestries. Although,” he’d caught the hint of well-concealed disappointment on Draco’s face. Knew how to look, now. “I’d be happy to trade the candles for the firelight. Eventually. For a bit, I mean. Since, you know-” Harry blushed in spite of himself. Damn.

            Draco’s response surprised him. “Right. Work.”

Which wasn’t at all what Harry had been thinking, but just as well. “Yes. Which is hell, by the way, or was today, at least, spending half the day thinking of you.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Only half the day?”

“I had a case to think about. They tend to help, I find. Though paperwork’s still awful. And I would gladly spend all day thinking about you.”

“So maybe ‘help’ isn’t the best word? Distract, perhaps?”

Harry laughed. He had expected things to be… not harder, exactly, but definitely not easy. Especially since it was only their second real date. Of course, there was still the awkwardness. It had sprung up in the shift from friendship to more, but Harry didn’t know what to make of it. “That sounds better. Although, either way, still wouldn’t mind thinking about you. Rather enjoy it, really.”

“Mmm.” Draco was looking amused. The server had come to take drink orders.

Harry didn’t order anything alcoholic, and neither did Draco. “Slowness…” Harry said under his breath.

“Hmm? Didn’t quite catch that.” Of course, wearing the devious smile. Making Harry squirm.

“Nothing.” Harry tried to suppress a blush. “Just talking to myself.”

“Happens to the best of us.” Draco seemed to be enjoying the conversation, though Harry could feel some hesitation coming from him.

Which, ridiculously slow or not, didn’t feel great. “Listen, Draco…”

The drinks arrived. Draco looked a little surprised by Harry’s abrupt change in tone. That made two of them. They placed their orders.

Harry waited until the waiter was well out of earshot before continuing. Because, even if he had no clue where he was going- he didn’t like the hesitation. He wanted things to be comfortable again. “I think we probably need to talk. Sort a few things out.”

Draco sighed, suddenly seeming much less keen on the evening. “Where should we start? Show-and-tell with my Dark Mark, or a heartfelt exchange about how we’re not the boys we were at sixteen?” His tone was light, and he was smiling bitterly.

And there it was. They _definitely_ needed to talk. “Neither, if you don’t want- Look, that wasn’t really what I was on about. I just feel like we might have skimmed over a few things, getting to know each other, and I think if we talked about them-”

“Is this really the place?”

Harry felt a pang of guilt. So much for a romantic second date. Well, Harry thought, nothing to do now but have the conversation. He cast a silent, wandless Muffliato. “It is now.”

“Did you just-?” with his eyebrows shooting up again.

“Yes. No one will be able to make out what we’re saying.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Draco broke the silence with a sigh. “It’s not that I’m unwilling to talk about it. I thought that after everything- after all the times we’ve spoken before, and after last time-” He took a breath and made eye contact. “I knew we’d get there eventually. That we’d have to work through it. I didn’t expect it would be so soon.”

Ah. Harry felt another pang of guilt. His fault again. “I didn’t, exactly, either. It’s just, after this week, and after all the meetings we had, it felt like-” He sighed, searching for the words. “It was great, being able to acknowledge it, being able to kiss you, but I was afraid if we moved too fast I would mess things up. And then, today, even though it’s still so easy to be with you…” He tried to find a way to describe it.

“It’s not as easy as before?” Draco supplied.

“Yes. I guess we should have expected that. New relationship and everything. But something still feels…”

“Strange? Off? Not quite right?”

Harry nodded.

“I feel that way, too. I thought it was just the sudden change- acknowledging it, like you said, but it’s- not.”

Harry realized he was holding his breath. He let it out, but all he could manage afterward was, “Exactly.”

“I guess the question still stands, then,” Draco said. Not bitter at all this time. Just quiet. “Where should we start?”

“I may have been the one who brought this up, but I- You should know I don’t care.” It was very important for Harry to let him know this. “I know you’re different. I’m different. We’ve both changed. I like who you are now,” he met Draco’s eyes as he said it, “and I want you to know that won’t change.”

From Draco’s expression- a mixture of shock and gratitude, something he was letting Harry see- Harry could tell he knew what he meant. Draco held his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Anything,” Harry said. Meaning it.

“Ah…” Draco ran a hand through his hair, ending with a few strands out of place, and glanced away before meeting Harry’s eyes again. He wore an apologetic smile. “I still don’t know where to start.”

Harry matched the expression. “Neither do I.”

The starter arrived. One Harry had forgotten they’d ordered. A brief moment for them to collect their thoughts. Until Draco took a bite of bruschetta and emitted a delighted little moan which succeeded spectacularly in distracting Harry.

No. They were supposed to be having a serious discussion. Harry picked up a piece of bruschetta, hoping to buy more time, but found himself on the point of making a similar noise when he tasted it.

Draco smirked. “More proof you have good taste.”

Harry nearly choked on a laugh. Then, rather pointedly, “I believe we were having a discussion?”

“Right.” Draco frowned, looking uncertain again. He paused for a moment, thinking. “I suppose I could tell you how I felt during the war, why- why I did what I did. I know you said it won’t matter, but I think we should…”

“Right.”

“I did what I did for my family. We were too involved, and… I’m guessing you know the risks better than anyone.”

Harry nodded.

“That was my main defense at the trials. I’m sure you- well, you might remember. They probably aren’t as vivid in your memory as they are in mine. There was more to it, of course. Not many things can be winnowed down to a merciful ruling and summarized by a short Prophet article. Especially things that happened during the war. Again, I- you probably know that.” Draco was silent for a moment. He looked down at the table, then back up at Harry. “There was no question about what would happen if I failed. I’d die, my family would fall out of favor- farther than we already had- and any chance my parents had before would be-” He cut off for a second. Then, after a slow breath, “They probably would have died. Even if they didn’t- an end to the Malfoy family line. That would have been the punishment for my failure. My parents’ life work, more or less, gone. I knew my mother would be destroyed. I couldn’t take that risk. Couldn’t risk them losing everything. I am sorry for hurting people. But I’m not sorry for what I did. Because, if I didn’t, some of the only people who really mattered to me might be dead.”

Harry wanted to fling himself across the table and embrace him, but he knew how much it had probably taken Draco to say all this. So, instead, Harry moved his hand, placing it over Draco’s where it rested on the table. Draco seemed startled by the touch, but didn’t pull away. “Thank you,” Harry said.

Draco nodded and sat back, reclaiming his hand. “I suppose that’s the best reaction I could have hoped for. Without begging forgiveness, I mean. Who better to understand necessity than Harry Potter himself…” Draco trailed off, possibly at seeing Harry flinch with his use of his full name. He may as well have called him ‘the Chosen One’ or something.

Before Draco could process his reaction, though, Harry said, “There’s nothing to forgive. We did what we had to do.”

“To survive,” Draco added quietly. In an even lower voice, “Though it’s a little different, staying alive to protect your family.”

“Versus dying to save them?”

Draco looked a little chastised at this.

Probably it was the way Harry said it, too harsh. He tried to soften his voice as he continued. “I think things have always been that way with us. Doing completely opposite things for similar reasons, or…”

“Opposites attract?” Thank Merlin, the amusement was back.

Harry nodded. Then got serious, again. Of course. “I’m sorry for what happened in school. No one deserves that. I should never have-”

Draco held up a hand. “I think you’ve apologized enough for that.”

“Have I?” Not even trying to moderate the sincerity in his words.

“Yes,” Draco said firmly. “I think you’ve apologized sixteen times, at least. Probably more. I, on the other hand, have not-”

“You did,” Harry said abruptly, hit with a sudden wave of memory. “You did apologize. After the trial. You said you were sorry for everything that happened in school, and I… agreed.”

“I remember.” Draco’s face lit up a little at the thought. It made Harry warm. “I think I said I was sorry for being a prat, and you apologized for going along with it.”

Harry laughed. “True to form even then.”

Draco’s eyes were alight. There was a depth in them Harry had never seen before, or if only in quick glimpses, an openness that- the hesitation was gone. Draco reached out this time, wrapping his fingers around Harry’s.

But that wasn’t nearly enough. Not- Draco had explained something about himself he had definitely not mentioned during the trial, and Harry-

Both of them started back as the waiter reappeared to clear the starter. The interrupted contact left both of them with chagrined, though excited, smiles; Harry would never have expected something like this to happen even when they were friends, and the realization of this was still a thrilling thought.

When they were alone again, though, his uncertainty returned. There had to be something- “Dumbledore used me.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

Draco’s eyes widened. “He…?”

“Yeah. Used me. As a pawn. I’m sure you heard the rumors.”

Draco nodded once. The dual horror and understanding in his eyes were telling enough; he hadn’t actually thought it was _true_.

Most people didn’t. “I realized he knew everything he was doing from the beginning, like… well, how better to outmaneuver Voldemort than to always be one step ahead? To be willing to make the decision he thought you were too weak to make because-” Harry cut off with a laugh. “So we really are the same. Perfect opposites, in a way. Both trying to do what was right, even if that meant things ended up completely different for-”

Draco reached out to grab Harry’s hand again, tightly, and Harry was so surprised he nearly jumped back. Draco’s gaze was startlingly intense, his voice probably quieter than it had been all evening. “I’m glad we found each other, then. Or that we figured it out.”

Harry felt a smile spread on his face. An absurd smile, given they’d just been talking about being used as puppets. Had to be too bright. People didn’t smile like that.

Well. Maybe the fact that they’d had similarly awful experiences was reason enough. Draco seemed to think so, because for one second he smiled back.

Then Draco was sitting back in his seat, and Harry’s right hand was under the table, and there was a moment of tension, and the anticipation of everything being alright if both of them were.

Draco broke the silence. “You never could brew a proper potion.” His playful expression was back, the one Harry had been missing since the beginning of the evening. The one that was equal parts haughty and mischievous and signified a return to their constantly trying to one-up each other with increasingly sarcastic accusations.

Even if some of them were true. Still, Harry was beaming. Couldn’t help it. “You never could find the snitch first. Oh,” he said it before he could stop himself.

“What?”

“I’ve just realized something.”

“Oh?”

“We’re the same.”

Draco scoffed. “I think we’ve been over this. And I’m certain my fashion sense is-”

“No.” Harry nudged Draco’s leg under the table. He was smiling madly again. “I told you I wasn’t really the Chosen One and you agreed wholeheartedly and made a joke of it not five minutes later.”

“Of course I did. I’d be an absolutely terrible boyfriend if I allowed years of fame and favor to go to your head.”

“Are you?” The prospect made him a little dizzy. Or very dizzy. It was hard to tell when the room was spinning.

Gentler, this time, “Would you like me to be?”

Harry blinked. “Of course. Yes. Of course I would.”

“Well.” Draco smiled conspiratorially and slid his hand across the table again. “I guess that’s settled, then.”

Harry took his hand. “I guess it is.” After a very lovely sappy moment of staring into each other’s eyes, he added, “Fuck slow.”

“That’s the plan.”

Harry managed to roll his eyes instead of blushing at what he felt the need to point out was a horrible joke. Which was secondary to his need to explain. “No, Draco. I mean… Screw it. Who cares? And I practically set you up for that one-”

“Screw it? Harry Potter wants to throw himself into a relationship with no heed for the consequences? Am I dreaming?”

“Probably,” Harry said, and Draco laughed at that. “But if the point of taking it slow was to make sure neither of us did- well, I can only speak for me- to make sure I didn’t do something completely stupid and scare you off, I don’t know that something like that’s even possible anymore. You’ve treated me more like a normal person than most anyone I’ve spoken to in the past four years, and I’m pretty sure if anything about me was too much for you, you would’ve stopped putting up with me by now. And if we’ve established that we’re going to carry on nearly as we were before, then, with lots of insults and honesty and the addition of snogging…” he shrugged.

Draco looked at him like he’d never seen anything quite like him. “Endlessly ridiculous.”

“You haven’t pulled away, though, which means you agree?”

Draco picked up his hand and pressed a single kiss to the back of it, not letting go even when he set their hands back down. “Absolutely.”

Harry supposed he should have been at least somewhat prepared for this response, so it shouldn’t have made him as ludicrously happy as it did.

He was ludicrously happy, anyway.

*

            When Draco had suggested they go back to his instead of Harry’s, he hadn’t expected Harry to say yes. He also hadn’t expected Harry to abandon all pretense of restraint and agree to having the best sex Draco had ever had not five minutes after they’d made it through the door. And then stay over afterwards. On a weeknight.

            Perhaps he should have expected something like this. It was Harry, after all. He had a knack for making even his surprises surprising. Leave it to Draco to find the only person on the planet who’d preface commitment with-

            Possibly the only thing that stood a chance of convincing Draco Harry was as convinced of his humanity as the rest of the world was convinced of the opposite.

            Draco had known, in the countless hours he’d spent with Harry, that he was talking to a slightly more grown-up version of the person who’d driven him up the walls in school. Still, when Harry did something amazing- which eventually became part of how Draco understood the man who was now passed out next to him- there was a small voice in the back of Draco’s head that reminded him, of course he’s doing this, he’s Harry Potter. Only now he could stare at Harry and run his fingers through his hair (as soft to the touch as it was impossibly messy) and acknowledge a very serious moment of mutual vulnerability which had reminded him that of course Harry was amazing. Not because he was Harry Potter, but because he was _Harry_.

            Draco smiled. That was going to take some articulation. In case it ever came up. Which it was very likely to, if their future dates were anywhere near as good as that one had been.

            Was. Still going on, Draco reminded himself. A glance at the clock on the nightstand confirmed that it was 1:03 in the morning. So, five hours and counting. Not even their longest date, yet.

            Draco wriggled back under the covers to get some sleep. He was very much looking forward to the rest of the date.

*

            When the sound of the alarm interrupted Draco’s half-formed dreams the next morning, he groaned.

            And then opened his eyes and realized that something infinitely better than a dream was lying in bed next to him.

            “What time is it?” Harry moaned. His voice was muffled by his pillow.

            “Six.”

            “Six?” Apparently the incredulity in his voice was insufficient to convey his outrage, because Harry actually lifted his head to stare at Draco.

            “I like to have time to get ready.”

            “Three hours? You need three hours- wait, when did we go to sleep?”

            Draco shrugged. He’d slid up a little, attempting to shake off the early-morning grogginess. “I think you went to bed around midnight.”

            “Wait.” Harry’s eyes were suspicious. “What time did you go to sleep?”

            “I don’t know. Probably one.”

            “But that’s… why?” Harry collapsed back into the pillow and closed his eyes again. “You’re absurd.”

            “I thought we agreed that you were absurd and I was rational-”

            “Rational people don’t wake up three hours before work.” His voice was distorted again, as he’d buried his face deeper in the pillow.

            “When do you wake up?”

            Harry mumbled something indistinct.

            “Sorry?” Draco thought he’d heard-

            “Eight.”

            “Eight? You don’t get up until eight? How is that enough time?”

            More indiscernible words, followed by “… plenty of time.”

            “Wait a minute. Don’t you walk to work?”

            “How can I?” Harry shifted again, his voice becoming clearer as he moved to face properly away from Draco. “It takes more than an hour to get there.”

            “You mean to tell me,” Draco tried not to be too satisfied at the obvious tension in Harry’s back when he heard his tone, “you dragged me through half the city that first night just to-”

            “Flirt with you.” Harry flipped to face him.

            Draco tried not to believe him. Just in case. “I thought that was my ulterior motive.”

            Harry shrugged, or as much as he could while he was horizontal. “Besides, I like walking, but I like sleeping more.”

            But he looked cautious, still, so Draco added, “I’m not really mad at you.”

            Harry smiled. “I know. And I didn’t really take you out that night to flirt with you. Well, maybe a little. I think I wanted a break and also to check and make sure we weren’t going to try and rip each other’s throats out the second we were alone together.”

            “I want to rip your throat out after hearing how readily you lie to your new boyfriend even at this hour of the morning-”

            “Your alarm. And you’re the one who suggested we skip the build up and start referring to each other in very explicit romantic terms on our second date.”

            “That wasn’t our second date.”

            “I know.” Harry smiled again.

            Stupid perfect fucking beautiful- “Coffee?”

            “I guess. If you insist on getting out of bed right now.”

            “Could you perhaps be suggesting-”

            Harry pulled him in for a kiss instead of answering. Which was perhaps a better answer, anyway.

            Draco wasn’t complaining.

*

            Harry plopped into his office chair later that morning feeling exceptionally content. Or as content as someone could be after being denied the opportunity to spend the day in bed with Draco Malfoy, who insisted it would be too conspicuous if they both called in sick-

            And who had agreed to reset his alarm the next time Harry stayed over on a weeknight. To seven, which if he was being honest was as much as Harry had hoped for. He would gladly get up an hour earlier if he got to spend most of it with Draco.

            He’d be spending most of the weekend with him, granted neither of them got blindsided by unexpected work emergencies. Draco was free until the dinner he’d planned with his mother on Sunday, and Harry…

            … would have to tell Ron and Hermione that weekend because they were having dinner again that Sunday for Charlie’s birthday since Sunday was the only time everyone knew they’d be free. Damn. Granted, Harry didn’t have to tell them before dinner, but then the tension from Wednesday was bound to continue, and someone was bound to notice.

            After contemplating his weekend prospects of survival for a few minutes (because, birthday dinner or not, there was always a chance Harry would slip up anyway), Harry decided the only way he was going to make it through the rest of the workday was with an actual plan.

            Rather than storm up to Draco’s office without even an excuse, he sent a memo. _Need to discuss weekend plans._

            Draco promptly replied, _I’m at work, Potter._

            Reminding himself that it wouldn’t help either of them for him to go marching off to the Committee’s office every time he wanted to talk to Draco, Harry wrote another memo: _Family dinner on Sunday and that’s two._ Harry trusted Draco would know what he meant.

            His trust was not misplaced. Draco came strolling through the door of the Auror Office presumably not too long after having received the memo. “There’s an inconsistency in a past case, Potter. Come up to Charms to discuss it?”

            “Yeah, of course.” Harry threw down the case file he’d been pretending to read and followed Draco into the hallway.

            Once they were a safe distance from any populated corridor, Draco rounded on Harry. “Do you have a death wish?”

            “No.” It probably sounded more defensive than it should have. Harry hadn’t really expected- “Why do you ask?”

            “If you haven’t said a word to Weasley or Granger yet-”

            “Oh.” Harry relaxed and cast a Muffliato. Useful for secret dating, he noted. “It’s not that I was going to tell everyone. I just thought we should give each other some warning, and, since we said we’d give it at least two…”

            “Oh. You thought I was going to mention it at dinner on Sunday?”

            Harry shrugged.

            “I wasn’t yet. I suppose I might tell Blaise or Pansy or someone, if any of them bother to get in contact this weekend.”

            “Oh. Well, we did agree, and I know it’s soon, but if you wanted…”

            “Right.” Draco flashed a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Much as I’d like to continue this conversation, we are currently at work, so-” he turned, but Harry caught his arm. Draco glanced back expectantly.

            “I wanted to warn you, anyway. Since some of the Weasleys are good at reading my face. Or coaxing information out of me even when I don’t want to share, which is probably a more likely explanation than-”

            “Harry?”

            “Yeah?”

            “You’re a terrible liar.”

            “Right. Anyway, now you’re aware.” He made it a few steps back down the corridor before Draco’s voice stopped him.

            “Harry?”

            “Yeah?” He turned.

            “Seven again?”

            “I was thinking six, actually.” Harry smiled.

            “Yours?”

            Draco was definitely still within the charm’s range, but Harry probably wasn’t. So he said, “I’ve got Kreacher.”

            Draco’s eyes flashed. “Won’t need to leave the bedroom.”

            “I expect not. Well, until later, then…” Harry could almost feel Draco’s nervous energy behind him as he continued down the hall. When Harry looked back at the end of it, he found Draco staring.

            Harry delighted in Draco’s quick change of expression; he’d looked sort of awed, like he always did when Harry was being ridiculous, but at Harry’s quick glance his eyes flashed again.

            One way or another, Harry thought, it was definitely going to be an interesting weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning the weekend will be summarized because a) this is only M for swearing and b) I did suggest that they would possibly move in together in chapter 6, so...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logical gestures of commitment and Christmas Eve.

            The weekend was uneventful, or as uneventful as Harry could have expected given he told Ron and Hermione. After spending nearly forty-eight consecutive hours lounging around Grimmauld Place with Draco in various states of undress.

            Draco had insisted he leave at 4pm Sunday to have sufficient time to prepare for dinner, full of excuses about not showing up in Harry’s pajamas and not wanting to make Harry late. He kissed Harry once on the cheek and disapparated, promising they’d stay in for their date on Wednesday.

            Following a quick shower, Harry put in a Floo call to Ron and Hermione’s, hoping to catch them before they left for the Burrow.

            “Oh! Harry!” Hermione looked pleased to see him.

            “Hey, Hermione. Can I come through? I wanted to talk to you and Ron a bit before dinner. I was hoping we could just go together.”

            “Yes, of course. I’ll go and get Ron, he’s changing…”

            Harry stepped into his best friends’ living room, and Hermione disappeared down the hall. A few minutes later she returned with Ron, who had likely just swapped a ratty t-shirt for a jumper Mrs. Weasley would find more appropriate. “Hey. Hermione said you wanted to talk?”

            “Yeah.” Harry sat in a chair as Ron and Hermione fell onto the couch adjacent to it. “I, er… have something to tell you.”

            “Finally shagged Malfoy?” Ron asked brightly.

            Harry blinked. Hermione elbowed Ron in the ribs.

            “Knew it.” Ron relaxed back into the cushions as Hermione heaved an exasperated sigh. “What? Harry mentioned him one too many times last week, and then didn’t bring it up after that, like he’d noticed.” He turned to Harry. “And then you seemed more distracted than usual at work, and, well.” Ron shrugged. “Hermione thought you wouldn’t have told him yet.”

            “Ron!”

            “Really?” Harry found himself grinning.

            Hermione sighed. “You do tend to be rather slow about these sorts of things.”

            “Originally I thought I should, but then I realized we’d sort of already been together for a while and…” he trailed off. “Guess it just sort of happened.”

            “Well, we have to have him over for dinner, of course. And I expect a full report at lunch on Tuesday, Harry,” Hermione said.

            “Right. We’ve got another date on Wednesday.”

            “Wednesday, eh?” Ron narrowed his eyes.

            Harry raised his eyebrows. “Well, he did stay at Grimmauld Place nearly the entire weekend, so I’d say-”

            “Ah. That explains it.”

            “Just because Harry’s dating again doesn’t mean he’s going to be joined at the hip with Malfoy or- sorry, Draco- or whoever it is,” Hermione protested.

            Ron shook his head. “You didn’t see the way he looked at Harry that time he came into the office. Ages ago, too, long before any of this. I expect we’ll be getting the wedding invitation any day now.”

            “We have only been on three dates,” Harry said.

            “The other ones were dates, too,” reasoned Ron. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

            Harry couldn’t argue with that.

            “Is he any good in bed?”

            “ _Ron_!”

            “Brilliant.” Harry said simply.

            Ron nodded. “Years of unresolved tension.” Mercifully, he didn’t go on, and Hermione reminded them it was getting late, and they piled into the Floo.

            Although Mrs. Weasley did seem particularly keen on Harry’s love life, Ron assisted him in deflecting the conversation. He kept bringing up Charlie, whose birthday they were supposed to be celebrating, and whose repeated declarations of asexuality, most of them spurred by a creative range of puns from George, also often redirected the table’s attention. All in all, it wasn’t much different from a typical Weasley dinner, if a bit more crowded than usual. Even Ginny was in attendance, back from her latest match and looking happy to see everyone. Occasionally she shot a knowing glance down the table at Harry, but mostly they just talked about Quidditch and what the Harpies got up to on their days off. Which was much more entertaining than Harry redecorating Grimmauld Place, though he and Mr. Weasley ended up having a surprisingly interesting discussion on wallpaper.

            At the end of the evening, Harry stepped outside with Ron and Hermione. He thanked Hermione and asked to borrow Ron.

Hermione hesitated. “Don’t thank me yet. You know I can’t give my full approval until I’ve spoken to him first.”

            Harry grinned. “Right.” He wasn’t exactly used to overprotective Hermione, but he knew it was for his benefit. Even if he knew by then that Draco Malfoy didn’t do things halfway any more than he did.

            “And go ahead and take Ronald. I’ve been meaning to go over notes for tomorrow, anyway.”

            “See you Tuesday.”

            “See you.” Hermione disapparated.

            Harry and Ron drifted away from the warmth and light of the house. Harry waited until they were a good distance away before he spoke. “Thank you, Ron.”

            “For keeping George from catching on or reminding mum whose birthday it was?”

            “Both. And-”

            Before he could get any farther, Ron said, “You don’t have to thank me for trusting you.” Harry turned to look at him. Honesty shone on Ron’s face.

With the slightest shake of his head, Harry countered, “Thank you for being a good friend, then.”

            Ron chuckled. “You’re welcome. Although Hermione has a point. You’re clearly happy, and I don’t think you’d rush into anything stupid, but we will need to meet him.”

            “Meet him again, you mean.”

            “Yeah. Just to be sure he hasn’t been spiking your tea.” Harry glanced up at that, but the joke was clear on Ron’s face. “Besides, you know we can’t send you off to mum until he’s met us.” That bit was serious.

            “Fair point. I expect you and Hermione’ll be easier company than a room full of Weasleys.”

            “Overprotective Hermione, overprotective Weasleys… You do know it’s because we care, right? Not because we’re expecting you to bring home someone awful.”

            “Yes.” And Harry did. “Thanks for that, too, then.”

            Ron shook his head. “More than twelve years, Harry. We’ve been friends for more than twelve years. I don’t know how I could think, after all that time, that you might have finally caught on…”

            “Well. This _could_ have been a bit much. Even for…” Harry trailed off.

            Ron stopped and clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry started and looked up. Ron leveled a gaze at him. “Never.”

            “Thanks, Ron. See you tomorrow.”

            “Get some rest, mate.” Ron’s arm fell to his side, and he turned and was gone.

            Harry stayed out a few more minutes, watching the stars.

*

            Dinner hadn’t gone poorly, exactly, but Draco found it hard to believe even after the fact that his mother had been able to guess what was going on almost immediately.

            “You’re seeing someone,” she said calmly as they sat down. She looked up in time to catch Draco’s reaction, likely one of surprise, before he could compose himself.

            Draco sighed, but didn’t say anything.

            His mother glanced up again, this time waiting until he made eye contact. “It’s Harry.” It wasn’t a question.

            Draco tensed, uncertain of the level tone in her voice.

            “You’ll have to have him over,” she continued, eyes dropping back to the table.

            “Yes.” Draco hadn’t the faintest idea how he felt about his mother knowing- or about what it meant that she could tell so easily- so he decided to take the hint of approval in her eyes as a good sign. “I’ll ask him.”

*

            “I’m not surprised.”  
            “What?” Draco’s confusion abounded; Harry seemed to know his mother better than he did.

            Harry shrugged. “She’s an intelligent woman, and if what I’ve gathered this past month and a half about your relationship is accurate, she’s the only one other than me and a handful of friends you ever let see anything. More than is polite, I mean.”

            “More than… Yes. I suppose you have a point.” Draco ran a hand through his hair. They were having dinner at Harry’s. After ‘casually running into each other’ at work on Tuesday to plan it. Feeling uneasy about dinner and deciding it would only help to see Harry again (even though _that_ could have backfired), Draco had gone down to his office around lunch. “Although I don’t show anyone everything.”

            Harry smiled that knowing smile that made Draco’s stomach flip because it indicated a level of intimacy he hadn’t established with anyone new in a long time. “I know. Neither do I.”

            “Of course not. You have to keep the state secrets, after all. Being the Minister’s confidant.”

            “We’ve had dinner twice this past year. I hardly think that makes me his-”

            “But you do know more than the rest of us?”

            Harry’s challenging expression turned sheepish.

            “That’s what I thought.”

            “Oh, don’t be smug. You’re probably sitting on some state secrets of your own. Experimental Charms. Remember that collapsing house case? Most people don’t even know how the Hogwarts selection process works.”

            “Most people don’t read. And how could I forget that case? You came to me for help,” the last part coming out rather softer than he intended.

            “Yes.” And then Harry’s eyes were doing that burning thing they really only did when they were about to- “Best decision I ever made, I think.”

            “We’ve been dating for less than a week,” but Draco knew as he said it that the conversation was already over.

            “I would argue, but that would mean we weren’t still in the honeymoon phase.” Harry waved a hand, and the dishes were clean and stacking themselves.

            “Show off. Thought you liked cleaning by hand.”

            Harry cracked a smile. “Desperate times?”

            Draco groaned in frustrated agreement and pulled him close.

*

            Christmas was fast approaching. In a bid to sort everything out just in time to do the holiday party rounds with Draco (which they agreed was as good a time as any to make their relationship known, given they’d be able to take time off work and hole up in Harry’s house during the worst of the media uproar), Harry had Ron and Hermione and Draco over for dinner at the same time. Or, he had Ron and Hermione over on a night he and Draco were at Grimmauld Place. After the first week of ‘real’ dating, he and Draco had given up the pretense of being in an early stage of the relationship and started spending most of their free time together, usually ending the night with one of them staying over the other’s. Harry wasn’t complaining, but it did make his and Draco’s impending interaction with each other’s families seem more urgent.

            Ron was spectacularly amiable, even winking once at Harry behind Draco’s back, and Hermione, after an expected period of skepticism, was finally won over by some theory Draco proposed about Charms. By the end of the evening, he and Hermione were deep in conversation about things Harry and Ron could never hope to understand.

            “You do know how to pick them, Harry,” Ron said. He was gazing appreciatively at Hermione where she and Malfoy sat by the fire; they’d moved to the living room after dinner, and he and Harry had spent the past few minutes in comfortable silence eyeing their dates. “Really. Most of the things she says about work go right over my head.”

            “I know what you mean. Draco usually only gets halfway through explaining something work-related before I stop understanding a word of it.”

            After another moment, Ron smiled. “Things have turned out alright, I think.”

            “Yeah.” Harry didn’t have to ask what he meant. “I think they have.”

            They lapsed into comfortable silence again.

*

            One day Harry and Draco were out Christmas shopping in muggle London- both because Harry had some non-magic gifts to purchase last minute and because they were still a day or two away from announcing their relationship to the wizarding press- when he stopped dead on the pavement, realizing something. “My life has become a Lifetime original movie,” he said aloud.

            “A what?” Draco looked at him confusedly.

            Harry shook his head. “American muggle films. Ginny told me about them, they’re- well, they’re usually meant to be either murder mysteries or disgustingly romantic, but they play into so many clichés that it’s impossible not to predict the plot in the first five minutes. I’m out with you, shopping, only a few days before Christmas…” he shook his head. “The reluctant friends to lovers thing is definitely a factor, too.”

            Draco’s eyebrows shot up, his expression impossible to pinpoint. Was that incredulity or amusement? Probably both. Harry was used to both. “How many of these have you seen, exactly?”

            Harry shrugged. “Loads. They’re quite entertaining, when you’re making fun of them the whole time.”

Draco’s expression changed to a challenging one. “More entertaining than home and garden shows?”

“Hey! That’s useful information for updating my house. What about that baking one you’re watching over and over again where someone’s always making red velvet whatever even though one of the judges hates red velvet?”

Draco’s tone was challenging. “I didn’t think you paid attention to Food Network shows.”

“I don’t have to, the judge makes a point of announcing it in every freaking episode! You’d think after the first few, the contestants would start to catch on.”

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” Draco’s tone was cloying, which could only mean one thing.

Especially given they were on their way back to Draco’s to take stock of the day’s purchases. “We’re not watching that stupid show again. No. Absolutely not.”

“What if I bought you a cake?” Seeing Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, he added, “It really is a classic flavor.”

“What would I do with an entire cake?”

“I could make you one.” He said it so quietly Harry wasn’t certain he’d heard him.

“What?”

“If I baked a cake instead. Would you watch cooking shows with me then?”

Harry blinked. “You bake?”

Draco gave a casual shrug. “Occasionally.”

“Well,” Harry tried to form a coherent thought. He was envisioning Draco in an apron, covered in flour. And then just the apron. “I do like cake.”

Draco smiled. “You really should have known. I thought you’d caught on after the scones.”

“Scones?” Harry recalled the day Draco had made them the other week. “I thought you were just really good at following recipes.”

“With that mediocre book you had? Absolutely clueless,” but Draco was smiling as he shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Move in with me,” Harry said. Out of nowhere. Without considering what he was-

But Draco’s eyes looked… hopeful. “Really?”

“Yeah.” The words came unbidden again, and Harry found his reasoning to be more solid than he’d thought. “We spend all our time together, anyway, and I have a bigger kitchen. And your lease is up soon, isn’t it?”

“January,” confirmed Draco. He looked thoughtful for a long moment. Then, “Alright.”

Harry blinked. “Alright?”

“Yes. Around the New Year, probably.” After a few steps with Harry staring, Draco added, “You make a sound argument. We practically already live together, at this point.”

A wave of panic washed over Harry as he realized what he’d just agreed to. “Practically.” He knew as well as anyone that living with a person was often more difficult than anticipated. Especially when that person was him, and when he still sometimes woke up screaming-

It was Draco’s turn to stare. “Are you retracting the offer?”

That question made the panic even worse. So, definitely, “No,” Harry said quickly. “I just meant, it’ll be different. Actually living together. With the nightmares,” he added in a last spurt of honesty.

“Nothing I’m not already used to on my end,” Draco said with an obliging smile. He changed tacks quickly. “And I think I can handle a pile of dirty laundry or two. And the permanent pureblood décor isn’t that bad, I suppose… You will have to let me help with redecoration, obviously.”

“Yeah.” The panic subsided to excitement. Of course it would be fine. Both of them slept better when they were together, and the few times either of them had woken from nightmares, things had gone… well, much better than they had before, at least for Harry. So Draco was moving in with him. No need to panic. Well. Maybe a little panic. With the excitement. Some cautious anxiety, maybe. And happiness.

Draco chuckled.

“What?”

“You. Your face is so easy to read.” He was gazing fondly at Harry.

Which caused Harry to reconsider arguing about it. If he’d get to see Draco like that for a while longer.

“Ridiculous, Potter…” Draco said, glancing away.

“Hey! I wasn’t done staring.”

Draco heaved an exasperated sigh. “Well. If you must.” He resumed looking at Harry.

Harry smiled. “Thanks.”

Draco’s answering grin made his expression even brighter. “Don’t mention it.”

*

            “We shouldn’t have waited. You should have called a family meeting.”

Harry turned to look at him, amused. “A family meeting?”

“Yes. Or invited half of them over for dinner or… something.” Draco shifted his weight, not letting any more of his apprehension show.

Of course, Harry had to catch what little bit was visible behind the composed Malfoy mask. He always did. “Hey.” He sounded as if he would’ve caressed Draco’s face if his arms weren’t loaded with presents. “It’ll be alright.”

Draco took a grounding breath and stilled. “Right. I’m sure you say that to all your Slytherin flings.”

“I was almost-”

“Yes, we know, Potter, you were almost a Slytherin. Shout it from the rooftops. At this point, you really don’t need to mention it every time you feel the need to reassure me I’m not inherently bad, because, really, I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with you if I were, glowing example of compassion that you are-” Draco cut off abruptly as the door swung open.

“Hello.” Ginny smiled, looking… well, looking like she was barely able to contain herself, Draco thought, which didn’t help ease his tension. An unexpected pang of sympathy shot through him when he realized Harry had been dealing with this smugness for weeks.

            The sympathy quickly faded as he caught sight of Harry’s face. Despite clearly recognizing Draco’s discomfort, he was beaming. “Hello, Gin. Could you maybe help-?”

            Ginny flicked her wand casually, and the presents levitated out of Harry’s arms. “Would’ve thought a Hogwarts Quidditch star and current auror would be able to handle a few presents.”

            “I was a seeker, and I never went professional. Besides, you can’t tell me those aren’t heavy.”

            Ginny laughed and maneuvered the presents ahead of her into the house. Harry dragged Draco in behind her as she continued, “I’m a seeker, and I could bench both of you. At once.” As if that hadn’t been implied by her tone.

            Surprising himself, Draco responded before Harry had a chance to. “That might be more difficult than it appears. Harry is surprisingly heavy. Given the added muscle.”

            Ginny snorted. She lowered the presents around the tree, which was looking quite crowded already, strung up with imitation-muggle lights and a comfortable array of ornaments. Harry’s stack of presents looked almost neat next to the jumble of others at the base. “Sticking up for your boyfriend or bragging you can lift him?” Ginny spun back around to look at Draco.

            Draco smirked. “Both.” He was feeling surprisingly relaxed, probably because there was no sign of anyone else being in the house.

            Of course Harry had to ask. “Where is everyone?”

            Ginny shot a glance at the strange clock on one side of the tree, just through the kitchen doorway. “George is working, Mum’s doing some last minute grocery shopping, Ron is probably dragging Hermione around buying us gifts at the final possible second, Percy’s at work- honestly, on Christmas Eve- anyway, Dad’s working on something in the shed, Charlie had to stay later than expected for the dragons- still showing up, just late- and Bill, Fleur, and Victoire haven’t arrived yet.”

            “What about-?”

            “Teddy and Andromeda?” Ginny grinned as she finished the sentence for him. “They’ll be around for dessert, at least. Didn’t you make plans with them?”

            “Well…”

            “My mother’s invited them to tea tomorrow, so we’ll definitely see them there,” Draco said smoothly. He and his mother made a point of getting together with them near all the crucial holidays, though this was the first time she’d accepted Andromeda’s suggestion to do something on Christmas Day. Fate seemed to have conspired for everything to work out this year.

            Which, maybe, Draco could begrudgingly admit, was a good thing.

            “I hope you’ve saved Teddy’s better present for tomorrow, then,” said Ginny brightly.

            Harry grinned. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”

            “Hang on,” Draco turned to Harry. “You definitely got him more than two presents.”

            “Shh! It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

            “I don’t think Ginny’s going to-” at which point what promised to be another spectacular argument was interrupted again by the quiet pop of Apparition and the sound of grocery bags being set on the table.

            “Better go help,” Ginny said before disappearing into the kitchen.

            Draco stared after her. Harry’s merciless lack of warning regarding Weasley customs was finally sinking in.

            “Come on,” Harry said, tugging on Draco’s sleeve. With a devious smile. Or a sweet one. Really, it was hard to tell, given the circumstances.

            Draco allowed himself to be dragged back into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were unpacking the bags. Draco was struck again by the strangeness of the situation, an unwelcome wave of apprehension returning at the thought that he was basically meeting Harry’s mother.

            Harry had met Draco’s mother without fanfare. They behaved as if they were oddly familiar with each other, and, when Draco asked about it later, Harry only shrugged. “Came to an understanding at a critical moment.” Right. Because that wasn’t cryptic or unsettling at all.

            Now Draco was standing in the Weasleys’ kitchen, Harry’s hand still hesitating on his stupid sleeve, uncertainty probably clear on his face even though he’d spent most of his life making sure that particular emotion was impossible to detect. Generally he avoided situations volatile enough to threaten his confidence.

            This rule did not seem to apply since he’d started dating Harry. “Mrs. Weasley,” Draco pulled his arm from Harry’s grasp to offer it to the red-haired woman whose thoughtful expression probably hid something more searching.

            “Call me Molly,” she said, seeming to make up her mind. Then she reached out and pulled him in for a hug.

            Draco stifled all but the smallest expression of surprise and reluctantly returned the embrace. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him. And Ginny’s, but her smile, he could see, was genuine. Harry was probably beaming with some combination of happiness and amusement. Infuriating git.

            After pulling away, Mrs. Weasley offered a brief smile and returned to her task. Seeing that Harry had joined Ginny in helping, Draco moved toward the table. Mrs. Weasley shooed him away. “I don’t expect someone to know where everything goes the first time they’ve been in this kitchen.”

            Harry and Ginny gaped at her. Which, Draco was pleased to see, wiped that ridiculous smile off Harry’s face.

            “Mum,” Ginny said simply.

            Harry seemed to think it wiser not to speak, a decision with which Draco silently agreed.

            “I lived here eighteen years and I never get it right,” Ginny continued.

            “It’s the effort that counts, dear.”

            “Exactly. You’re just going to put it all somewhere else in the end anyway, so-”

            “Pass me those potatoes, will you?”

            Ginny blinked and obliged. Harry shook his head slightly and went back to unpacking. A few minutes later, when Mrs. Weasley popped out to get some ingredient from the back garden, Draco turned to Harry. “I’m not unwilling to help.”

            “I know,” Harry said. “But what Molly says goes.”

            “Please.” Ginny snorted. “She’s just doing this because Draco’s a _guest_.”

            Draco glanced at her. “But I was hugged.”

            “Yes,” Ginny explained, “and she likes you. A lot. Which is probably why she doesn’t want to put you off with chores on your first visit.”

            To his immense surprise, Draco felt disappointed by this. He frowned, attempting to work out why- “Oh.”

            “Oh what?” Harry looked worried.

            Overly receptive of any and all shifts in Draco’s mood. As usual. He quickly arranged his expression into one of mild exasperation. “If I’m not helping you lot, what am I going to do all day?”

            Harry seemed to know it wasn’t that simple, but, for once, didn’t press the issue. “Insist you help then.”

            “That’ll only make her like him more,” Ginny cautioned. She looked as if she would have gone on, but a flash of red through the kitchen window announced Molly’s approach.

            Harry just managed, “Like that’s a bad thing,” before Molly returned, arms full of freshly-picked herbs. She mentioned something about atmospheric charms, which Draco actually knew plenty about, so he used that as an opportunity to start helping without her noticing.

            “Oh, Draco, you really don’t have to-”

            “Nonsense. Tell me more about the charms.” He thought he heard some reaction from Harry behind him (amusement? disbelief? satisfaction?), but he didn’t turn to confirm it.

            The rest of the day went better than Draco would have hoped. Once he acknowledged that his disappointment at being treated like a guest was possibly dissatisfaction with falling into some middle category- i.e. no longer an enemy, but not someone to be treated exactly like the rest of them- it was easier to wield his well-practiced charm in varying degrees of friendliness towards the necessary parties. Harry seemed to sense that there was something more to his politeness than a simple desire to appease his boyfriend’s family, which, of course, there was- how could Draco not view the situation as a sort of challenge, at least in some regard? He certainly wasn’t going to allow ‘wanting to be acknowledged as one of the family due to emotional proximity to Harry’ as his only motivation, especially given the extra anxiety that would impose on the evening (leading as it would to uncomfortably emotional contemplations of the depth of their relationship in what was neither the time nor the place), so considering the evening part-welcome, part-challenge seemed like the best approach.

            Ron’s easy acceptance seemed to have primed his family for a mostly tension-free evening, for which Draco was grateful. He considered thanking him, but, after catching one of the smug looks it was then clear Ron had been shooting Harry all through dinner, Draco reconsidered. Perhaps if he did something that’d improve Harry’s mood rather than irritate him…

            By the time dinner was finished, Draco was fuller than he had been in a long time. He didn’t really mind, though. The food had been wonderful, and Harry’s sidelong glances were becoming more adoring and less suspicious as the night wore on. Rather than contemplate what that meant (likely another path to unnecessary anxiety), Draco settled on the sofa between Harry and Hermione, significantly more at ease than he had been at the beginning of the day. Teddy and Andromeda flooed in just as they were settling into the living room. Draco exchanged tentative hugs with both of them. After a few minutes of excited discussion with Harry, Teddy went over to play with Victoire.

            “He’s a good kid,” Draco said.

            “Yeah.” Harry was watching Teddy’s patient interactions with Victoire. Despite being in his first year of primary school, Teddy seemed to enjoy the baby’s company. The way Harry looked at him- loving and proud and hopeful- made it hard for Draco to look away. He had a half-formed image of Harry and a perfect blonde child in his head before reminding himself that he hadn’t even moved in yet.

            There was some unspoken consensus about not exchanging gifts with people who you would presumably be eating breakfast with the next morning. This still entailed a solid ten minutes of present division. When Draco glanced down to find a sizeable stack of gifts had been assembled at his feet, he couldn’t hold back an expression of surprise. Harry caught sight of this and gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. George shot them a suggestive glance from across the room.

            “Shut up, George,” Harry said easily before reaching down to snag one gift each from his pile and from Draco’s. He threw Draco’s gift unceremoniously into his lap and looked up. “Is there any particular order this year, Molly, or are we going in a circle again?”

            “There really isn’t any rhyme or reason to the way you lot have teamed up this year, so I think around the room would do just fine.”

            This response, which had initially made no sense to Draco, proved to reference the seemingly random way people who lived hours or countries from each other had teamed up to pick gifts out for other members of the party. Somehow this process ended with everyone having approximately five gifts each, which was still a much higher number than Draco was used to.

Christmas at the Manor had resolved to a stately affair after his sixth birthday. Typically there were a few parties to attend aside from the Christmas morning exchange of single presents between himself and each of his parents. Both of these activities had proceeded with little fanfare over the years. The Weasleys’ gift exchange was exuberant by comparison, laughing exclamations thrown across the room as the gifts were opened one by one, someone occasionally springing up and wading through the growing sea of wrapping paper to give an appreciative hug. He was so struck by the mood of the room that Draco smiled and laughed nearly as much as the rest of them, even when the process looped around to him and Harry. As Harry unwrapped his presents, Draco gained a better appreciation of how thoughtful the gifts were. The muggle mystery anthology in particular made his eyes light up in the loveliest way.

Draco’s appreciation for the thoughtfulness of the presents redoubled when he opened his own. A charmed pocket watch from Ron and Hermione, a muggle at-home library kit from Arthur, and Percy… Draco had to bite back a gasp as he pulled the paper off his last gift, a hand-knit green sweater with a hint of silver woven through it.

            He blinked up at Molly, only able to manage a “thank you,” but he saw something in her expression that made him think she understood.

            Hermione smoothed over the potentially awkward moment by starting on her own pile, and Draco reminded himself he had absolutely no reason to be so emotional as he watched her unwrap a book whose selection had been a joint effort between Harry and George.

            Following the execution of an excellent vanishing spell done by Molly on the wrapping paper, she and Bill ducked into the kitchen and returned with a tray packed with mugs of hot chocolate. Draco accepted a cup and sipped. It was as good as everything else had been that night. Just warm enough, just sweet enough, surprisingly easy to drink despite how full he’d been after dinner. Milk and chocolate in a balance he was unused to but found very pleasant anyway.

            As the hot chocolate disappeared, the conversations became slower and sleepier. Eventually Bill and Fleur stood to take Victoire home. She’d been passed out for a while already. Teddy, though he’d tried to keep up with the adults, was dozing; every once in a while he nodded off on Harry’s shoulder, prevented from sliding off the arm of the sofa by Harry’s attentiveness. Then Andromeda stood, too, and Draco was pulled into a longer hug than he’d expected.

            After rousing Teddy enough for his grandmother to guide him through the fireplace (and lifting him up in a spectacular hug), Harry turned to Draco. “Want to head out?”

            “Yes, I…” And instead of waiting for Harry, Draco made the rounds. He shook hands and exchanged half-hugs and returned the steadfast embrace of Molly Weasley with a whispered “thank you” that caused her arms to tighten for a second. He didn’t mind.

            He and Harry gathered up their things and flooed back to Grimmauld Place.

            “Yours or mine tonight?” Draco asked as soon as they’d made it into the drawing room.

            “Er…” Harry looked surprised by the question. He dumped his presents on the sofa and glanced up at Draco. “I don’t know.”

They’d been staying at number twelve more and more often lately, but Draco had yet to move over more than the necessities. He didn’t want to waste the last few days of his lease, providing as it did the chance to go on winter walks through Regent’s Park with Harry. “Right. Sorry. Everything’s here, isn’t it?” Draco tipped his head toward the tree in one of the end windows, bright lights illuminating the presents underneath.

“I don’t mind if… Ah! I see.” Harry’s mixed sincerity and uncertainty gave way to understanding. “You want to start setting up that library thing before you have to move the books.”

“I…” But of course he was already blushing. And Harry could read his face. “Yes,” Draco sighed.

Harry grinned. “How about I help you with that for, say, an hour, and then we come back here for a spectacular shag and breakfast in bed tomorrow morning?”

“Who will be making breakfast?”

“Me?” And the way he looked in that second, hopeful and caring and like he didn’t mind at all that his half of the in-bed part would technically be interrupted-

Draco smiled. He couldn’t help it. It was Christmas. And Harry. “I’ll make scones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, BASICALLY living together but not quite. After Christmas Day I'm planning on loads of domestic fluff, and also more Draco baking because... he bakes for important things. And important things will happen in the next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

            Harry couldn’t help but hum as he started the coffee. There was a light blanket of snow on the back garden, and the sun was bouncing off it in a way that promised a crisp cool winter day. Draco was still sleeping.

            Well. Until Harry heard the faint sound of footsteps, growing louder until becoming the telltale padding of sock-clad feet on the kitchen stairs.

            “You’re up.” Harry said it happily, smiling.

            “You let me sleep in.” Draco yawned.

            “You never sleep in. I thought you deserved it.”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “ _I_ deserved it? Coming from someone who requested he be unable to walk following the sex we had last night?”

            Harry shrugged. “Guess I slept well.”

            Draco gave a ‘tsk’ of response but didn’t press the subject as he came over to lean against the counter beside Harry. It was a shame he got so close, because Harry couldn’t appreciate Draco’s lack of shirt or absolutely disheveled hair when his face was only inches away. Not that his face was harder to appreciate. He smiled and wrapped his hand around Harry’s. “Did you buy more flour?”

            “Yes.” Harry wasn’t about to be out of flour in the event Draco had a whim to bake.

            “Good.” Draco kissed him once, softly, a thank you, before going over to the pantry. And there was the lovely view again, back muscles and the pajama-clad suggestion of what Harry knew to be a perfect arse making up for the physical distance. “Do you want plain again, or something in them?”

            “I don’t think I have anything to put in them.”

            “Well, I could possibly dry fruit with a spell. Or put in cheese. Do you want sweet or savory?”

            “Sweet. We just got that jam.”

            “Do you trust me?” Draco peered around the doorway. His eyes were playful and challenging and maybe the slightest bit serious.

            “Yes,” Harry said firmly.

            Draco made a contented sound and disappeared again, returning moments later with the flour in the crook of one arm and the sugar in the other. He set them on the counter, then strolled past Harry towards the fridge. “Do you want me to show you how to make them?”

            Knowing full well that could end up with the two of them naked and not minding this in the least, Harry murmured his assent.

            Draco smiled. Clearly he was thinking the same thing.

            After retrieving all the ingredients, Draco slipped a hand under Harry’s t-shirt and guided him to a blank space of counter. Harry shivered at the tickle of Draco’s breath in his ear. “Ready to learn how to make scones?”

            Harry nodded. He didn’t trust his ability to form a more coherent response.

            Draco’s hand disappeared from his hip, and Harry hissed a little. But then Draco pressed flush against his back, and, really, that was a decent enough trade-off. Draco snaked his arms under Harry’s to reach the counter. “First we take the butter…”

            Draco was patient, likely because he was the one driving Harry to distraction. In the end they only had to stop three times, and one of those was to make the coffee (which had nearly boiled over ten seconds into a round of passionate snogging, so, really, they would have had to stop that time, anyway).

When the scones were done, Draco went over to the fridge and took out the jam. Since they’d gone for savory scones, Harry raised his eyebrows.

“You do still trust me?” Draco asked.

Harry smiled. “I believe I’ve just proven it again.”

Draco placed two scones on a plate. They were piping hot and golden with flecks of browned cheddar peeking through. He brought them over with the jam and a knife, spread a little on each, and looked up at Harry.

Halfway through the first bite, Harry groaned. “We’ve been dating for how long?”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “Two months, I think.”

“I didn’t know you could do this,” Harry made a sweeping gesture, “for two months?”

“I _have_ made scones for you already.”

“Yes, but-” Harry held up a hand and finished off his scone half. He reached for the other as he continued, “-these are fantastic.”

Draco gave him a smile, one that was all soft and glowy and proud but also fond. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” Harry popped the rest of the scone into his mouth and leaned to snag another from the baking sheet.

And then Draco’s smile became even more beautiful, the pride giving way to a glimmer that made his next words sound longing, _promising_ , like he knew he’d have a long time to make them true. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

*

            Draco and his mother were sitting down to tea, watching Harry converse with Andromeda from his place on the rug beside Teddy. Like the day before, Draco found it hard to look away from Harry. He and Teddy were both coloring pictures of dragons, but Harry glanced up at the boy so often he fell quickly behind in his progress. Draco couldn’t always see his face. When he did, Draco caught that flash again, the look Harry had sometimes had around Teddy the day before, and, amazingly, it was not so terrifying as it had been less than twenty-four hours ago.

            Which reminded Draco why he’d requested he have a word with his mother. “Might I borrow the services of a few of the Manor’s house elves this weekend?”

            “Yes, of course. Although I can’t imagine why you’d need so much assistance…” she trailed off suggestively.

            “Apparently I’m moving to Islington.”

            “Really? Whatever happened to that nice little flat you had?”

            Draco smiled and glanced at her. “Lease is up. Moving in with Harry.”

            His mother blinked. And didn’t talk for a little longer than was reassuring. Finally, she said, “Isn’t it a little… well, isn’t it a little _soon_ for that, Draco?”

Draco blushed in spite of himself. “We’ve been seeing each other for two months, and you’ve invited him to dinner three times.”

“I’m not suggesting your relationship isn’t sufficiently advanced. Rather, I meant, given the fact that you haven’t gone public-”

“Oh.” Draco frowned. “We’re doing an announcement. Next week, probably. We would have done it sooner, but we both couldn’t take off work until then.” He felt a pang of guilt as he realized he’d been meaning to talk to her about it earlier.

But his mother only smiled. Barely, but it was… something. “Alright then.”

Draco hesitated. “You’re not angry?”

“Angry? Why would I be angry? My son is in a decent relationship, and he’s chosen the absolute best strategic moment to break it to the press. Proud, maybe. Angry? Never.” Her eyes were sparkling by the end of it.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the greatest mother in the world? And that I love you?”

She laughed delicately. “I could stand to hear it a bit more often.” His mother took a sip of tea and glanced between Draco and Harry. “I’ve got a feeling I’m not the one who needs to hear that most from you now, though.”  
            Draco avoided her eyes. Even so, he couldn’t disagree. “You’re too perceptive. If I didn’t know you better, I’d suspect Legilimency.”

Narcissa smiled. “I love you, too, Draco, dear.”

*

            Unfortunately, wizard crime rates spiked alongside muggle ones during the holidays, guaranteeing Harry, as a first year auror, would spend the time between Christmas and New Year’s sifting through pile after pile of theft reports. He returned to Grimmauld Place each night to find a few more of Draco’s things around the house. Harry ended up with Saturday, but not Sunday, off, so Draco picked that day to move his larger things.

            The Manor elves made the magical transport of Draco’s bookshelves seem effortless. Harry was amazed to find they were able to get the shelves into the study (formerly the first-floor bedroom) without removing the books. Once that task was complete, they helped Harry and Draco with Draco’s plethora of cooking gadgets, containers, and utensils, which filled Harry’s cabinets more thoroughly than any number of free evenings spent on trips to kitchen supply stores could have.

            By the end of the day, neither Harry nor Draco felt up to rearranging any furniture. Draco offered to stop by the Ministry for lunch the next day with ideas. Harry was quick to accept the chance to break up the monotony of petty theft cases. He even promised Draco they’d walk somewhere to eat, a suggestion which brought a smile to Draco’s face.

            They climbed into bed. Happy though Harry was that it was officially their bed now, both of them were too exhausted to do more than snuggle close before they were half-asleep already. Draco was being the big spoon, which was nice, because it made it easier for Harry to concentrate on matching his breathing and giving into the tiredness.

Harry was just on the edge of sleep when Draco’s voice drifted to him, almost too quiet to hear. “I’ve finally found you.”

That night, there were no nightmares. Only dreams.

*

            Their planned week off couldn’t start until Wednesday, but Draco took off Tuesday to do something that made his shoulders clench in a way Harry couldn’t cuddle away. Harry didn’t want to push him. Every time Harry got bad and refused to explain why, Draco didn’t push him. So Harry went to work and tried not to worry and started to when he came home and found Draco wasn’t back yet.

            At eight o’clock the door opened and it took everything he had to wait. Harry was sitting in the kitchen. Staring at the wall. He listened as Draco took came down the hallway, slowly, and went to the kitchen stairs.

            When Draco came in, he walked over, but not all the way. He stopped a few feet from Harry.

            “Hi,” Harry said.

            “Hello.” He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes. The tension was still there, this time accompanied by an exhaustion that had his shoulders slumped and his eyes looking sad.

            Harry hated it. “Did you eat?”

“No. Not hungry. Did you?”

“I’m not hungry, either.”

Draco stared at him for a moment, seeming to size him up. Then he sighed and said wearily, “I went to see my father.” He paused, then looked up and added, “I told him.” The apprehension was clear on his face. Probably because he had no idea how Harry would react or thought he’d react badly.

He just said, “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all?” Some of the apprehension became uncertainty. Or surprise.

“As long as you’re okay.” And he meant it. Because that was all that mattered.

Draco shouldn’t have to do anything that made him look like that. He blinked. “I’m fine.” A second later, he exclaimed, “Amazing,” and walked a few more steps and began placing gentle kisses along Harry’s neck, his collarbone, his shoulders. After a moment he climbed into Harry’s lap. Harry didn’t object. Between kisses, Draco continued, “Amazing. Absolutely beyond… Rididculous.”

Harry smiled and wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist. “You are fond of pointing that out.”

“Mmm.” Draco kept kissing him.

Harry didn’t mind.

He minded less when Draco said, “I love you.” Natural and easy like he had meant to say it. Like he’d said it a thousand times already. Harry must have frozen, because Draco pulled back to look at him. It was a worried look, the one that asked if he’d done something wrong. Or worried that he did.

Harry placed a gentle hand on his face and smiled. “I love you too.” He leaned up to place a light kiss on Draco’s surprised lips.

When he pulled back, Draco was looking at him cautiously.

“I love you,” Harry repeated, and he couldn’t help but grin at the flush that crept up Draco’s neck when he said it.

“I love you, too.” Draco’s voice was deliberate that time. Confident. Only the slightest bit of hesitation. Like he was testing the words.

Harry’s smile widened.

With a half shake of his head, Draco glanced away. A second later his eyes returned to Harry’s, thoughtful. “I thought you’d… I thought you’d be upset. Or angry or… something. And I certainly didn’t expect…” the flush was back.

He probably should have tried not to say, “Why would I be upset that you loved me?” He wanted Draco not to be sad, still.

“No, Harry,” but amusement was battling the seriousness on his face, anyway. “I was worried my telling him would upset you.”

Harry’s face stilled. It wasn’t cold or especially calm. But he wanted to be reassuring. To remind Draco he loved him with the look he’d been giving him for probably a very long time that Harry was certain now meant exactly that. “I love you. Of course I’m not mad. And family should know first,” he added.

For a moment, one almost nonexistent moment, Harry thought he saw the memory of that conversation flash across Draco’s face. The one they’d had a few days ago, after Christmas. When they’d been talking about their plans and agreed on what to do and Draco had said something that made Harry know he understood Harry’s family was the Weasleys and Hermione and Hagrid and Teddy and Harry had said his mother and everyone else. Narcissa and anyone else. Anyone else Draco wanted to tell.

The recognition of it, that Draco knew without further explanation exactly what Harry meant, crossed his face then. He nodded once, sighed, and buried his face in Harry’s neck. Draco snuggled closer, fingers pressed against Harry’s shoulder blades through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re cuddly today.”

Draco made a noise that was a cross between an annoyed groan and a wimper.

“I’m not complaining.”

“Good.” The word was muffled, mumbled warmly against the skin of Harry’s neck.

Harry turned to press a kiss to Draco’s head. “Only if you’re okay.”

“Of course I am. I love you,” he said again, as if the truth of the words was proof that everything would be okay.

Which maybe it was. Because of that. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”  
            They sat in silence like that for a while, Draco’s breathing slowing almost to the cadence of sleep, Harry enjoying the closeness.

Finally Harry said, “We should probably move.”

“Mmm.” Draco made no attempt to get up.

Harry slid a hand under his knees.

“What are you- oh!” Draco’s breath caught in surprise as Harry stood, lifting him. “Alright, then, Potter.” Draco nuzzled deeper into Harry’s chest.

Harry carried him to bed.

*

            Draco moaned. They hadn’t closed the curtains, and he’d tried to open his eyes. Was he still- yes. He was still wearing the shirt from yesterday, though he’d managed to get his shoes and trousers off. Or maybe Harry had done that. He couldn’t actually remember much past the creak of Harry’s footsteps as he carried him up the stairs.

            Harry’s hand flung out to touch Draco’s back. He left it there. Which was fine.

            “What time is… ah.” Draco had opened one grudging eye to look at the clock. “It’s afternoon.”

            “We needed sleep, and we’re both off.”

            “Yes, well… would this be a bad time to call Kreacher?”

            “Maybe for a little while. Until we’re awake enough to shag.”

            “That could take days,” Draco warned. He stretched and turned over to look at Harry.

            His eyes were still closed, but he was smiling. “S’fine. I’m a patient person.”

            Something important occurred to Draco. “Fuck.”

            Harry must have understood his tone, because he opened his eyes, suddenly alert, and said, “What?”

            “We’ve got to tell them. All of them.”

            “Oh.” Harry didn’t seem to have any trouble discerning what he meant. “Yeah.”

            “And we should…” Despite his apprehension, Draco pressed on, “We should tell them today. Should have told them yesterday, if I hadn’t….”

            “No.” Harry rubbed his back. Slowly up and down. Soothing. Like he wasn’t about to get the worst of it. “It was important. We couldn’t tell them until after.”

Draco allowed himself to acknowledge that he’d be the one getting the worse mail and let the movement of Harry’s hand relax him a bit. At least they’d be suffering together. “Can you put an anti-owl spell on this house?”

“Yes. It’s already Untraceable and still under Fidelius protection. I’m not really worried about the fact there’s so many Secret Keepers, because none of them would ever…” he kept up the motion of his hand on Draco’s back. “I stayed here during training and they never found me. No one can see the house unless they know it’s here.”

After enjoying Harry comforting him for three more seconds, Draco said, “How should we do it?” Because, really, the sooner they worked all this out, the better.

Harry’s hand stilled, but he didn’t remove it. “I don’t know. We could go to a post office and send an owl to Skeeter. Or someone else at the Prophet. Either way, I think it has to come from us. As much as we’re willing to share, or as much as… We have to say enough that at least some people will believe us. So maybe not Skeeter. Someone who’ll print our whole letter, or whatever.”

“Lovegood, maybe? And I can write the letter. If you want.”

“Unfortunately the Quibbler doesn’t have quite enough circulation. And Luna’s probably out of the country, hunting Snorkhacks… I’ll have to owl her, anyway.”  
            “So, the Prophet. My mother knows someone. Someone who’s written a few of the more sympathetic pieces about us. I can write to him. Directly, of course.”

Harry’s hand pressed a fraction harder into Draco’s back. “That sounds good. Can we…” He smiled. “Can we not talk about this in bed? And maybe… wait a few minutes?”  
            “Yes. Of course.”

Harry visibly relaxed. “Good. Fancy a shower?”

“With you? Anytime. Though you should probably call Kreacher. I’m famished.”

“Yeah. Kreacher?”

Draco couldn’t help but flinch a little at the crack.

“Yes, master Harry?”

“Could you make us breakfast?”

Kreacher narrowed his eyes, then twisted his lips into what was probably his version of a smile. “Of course.” There was another crack.

Draco sat up, trying to ignore the way this made his head spin. “Has he… Doesn’t he know?”  
            “That you’ve been here? Yes, of course, he’s been around occasionally. That we sleep in the same bed? I’m not sure. Have we ever asked him for breakfast before?”  
            “No. I don’t think we have.”

“Oh. Well.” Harry sat up and grinned. “I guess he knows now.”

“I guess he does.”

Harry rolled out of bed and put on his glasses. “Shower?”

“Please. And can we turn the heat up? It’s freezing in here.”

“Erm…” Harry looked apologetic. “You can try, but the heaters are a little… temperamental.”

Draco was careful to keep the hint of amusement out of his voice. “You let me move into a house with faulty heating?”

“Well… Mostly I just cast a lot of warming charms. When the heat doesn’t work properly.”

Draco skipped over the part where he had been usually so distracted by Harry that he hadn’t noticed the probably-wandless casting that had to have been going on for weeks. “I can’t believe you would let the love of your life-”

Harry’s guilty look became a smile again. “You’re the love of my life?”

“I hope so. I’m about to forgive you for risking my freezing to death. Don’t change the subject.”

            Harry looked chagrined. “Sorry. I’ll do them this week.”

            “Good. The shower will help.”

            “Right.”

            “Luckily you had the foresight to remodel the bathrooms first. We should probably talk about the rest of the house while we have a chance. What you haven’t done, I mean. I was thinking, actually… I was thinking I’d like to do one of the bedrooms.”

“One of the bedrooms?”

“Well, the master bedroom. Make it… Make a place for us. Not that this isn’t lovely, I just… I think it would be nice.” Draco waited.

            “Okay. I trust you.”

            “Even if I insist it be a surprise?”

            Harry’s calm look remained unchanged. “I don’t think you’ve ever done a bad surprise. At least for me. So I’m hoping this one will be the same.”

Draco’s wave of happiness at hearing that gave way a second later to impatience. He wanted to start the project right away, and, more immediately, it really _was_ cold. “Shower?”

            “Right.” Harry left the room smiling.

            Draco sighed, tried to stifle the flurry of plans that had just flooded his mind, and followed Harry to the bathroom.

*

“It’s not that bad.”

Harry made a strangled sound of disagreement.

“She’s right,” Draco said. “I’ve had much worse than this.”

            Which was perhaps the wrong thing to say because Harry just made the strangled sound again.

            Draco winced. “Really. This isn’t bad.”

            They were sitting in the kitchen having tea with Hermione, who had come over after work Thursday to offer her support. She’d owled ahead (because apparently Harry’s owl repelling spell was precise enough to let the good ones through). Draco appreciated it. Harry had been happy to see his friend for the shortest of seconds before catching sight of the owl-filled street behind her and crumbling.

            Draco and Hermione had been trying to convince him it wasn’t his fault since then. “Really, Harry,” Hermione was saying. “The Ministry’s already planning to send someone out tomorrow. Not to see you, or get you in trouble,” she added hastily at the sight of Harry’s expression, “but for the owls. And no one’s found- the only reason the owls even know you’re in the area is because of how strong their sense of direction is. Something about the Fidelius charm is keeping wizards from tracing where their owls have gone, or keeping reporters from tracking you, owls or not. The only reason the Ministry knows is because muggles are noticing. They’ve sent a cease and desist letter to the Prophet about both the twenty owls out there that are theirs and their printing ‘tell Harry how you feel’ at the end of that damned article.”

            “Sorry.” Draco bit back a grimace. “Johnson’s a friend, but even he can’t stop the shite that Skeeter woman adds. She is the editor, after all.”

            Hermione laughed. “Maybe I should go back to blackmailing her.”

            “No,” Harry said. He hadn’t had many coherent responses to Draco’s or Hermione’s attempts to reassure him, so the fact that he’d uttered an actual word might have been progress. “We have to wait this out.” He looked up at Draco. A heartbreaking pleading look that begged forgiveness he didn’t know he didn’t have to ask for. Or maybe said he didn’t expect any sort of forgiveness at all, which was worse. “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be.” Draco couldn’t stand that look on Harry’s face. “It’s not your fault.”

            “I should have written a letter. I still should. I should go into the Prophet offices and-”

            “Absolutely not,” Hermione said. Draco tried to convey his gratitude with a look. “It’s too dangerous. Kingsley told me specifically to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Since the Ministry owls can’t get through. Which is impressive- anyway, expect an owl directly from him sometime soon. Or a Floo call.”  
            “The Floo’s closed,” Draco said.

            Hermione looked apologetic. “You’d have to cut the connection completely to close it to the Ministry.”

            “Damnit.” He should have known. Not even the oldest magical residences could bypass the most recent changes to the official Floo network. Law Enforcement had proven it one too many times at the Manor. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

            He’d said the wrong thing again. Harry’s eyes widened. “You shouldn’t be apologizing. This is all my fault.”

            Which it absolutely was not. “No-” Draco stopped. He and Hermione had been trying to convince Harry it wasn’t his fault for an hour, and neither of them had made any progress. “Hermione?”

            “Hmm?” She looked a little surprised at being addressed.

            “Thank you for coming. I think it’s helped to know the Ministry’s on top of things, and we’re grateful for your support.”

            “Right.” Hermione stood.

            Draco was grateful all over again. He hardly had to say anything- she just got it. “Thank you.”

            “Of course. Harry, Draco. I’ll keep you updated. Let me know if you need anything.” She leaned down to hug Harry, who looked surprised, but hadn’t moved, and then surprised Draco with a one-armed hug for him as well. “I’d better get going. Ron will want to know you’re okay.”

            Well, Harry definitely wasn’t, but Draco appreciated the effort on Hermione’s part. “Thank you,” he repeated.

            Hermione smiled in a way that said of course she cared about Harry and of course she didn’t want either of them to have a harder time of it if she could help it. Then she turned on her heel and disapparated.

            “I didn’t thank her.” Harry’s voice was rough.

            “I thanked her for both of us.”

            Harry glanced up wearily. “Why’d you kick her out?”

            Draco frowned at the phrasing, but didn’t refute it. “You still think it’s your fault, and no amount of pleading by either of us seemed to be helping.”

            “Oh.”

            Draco placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I think we should try something else.”

            “Mmm.” Then Harry seemed to get it and looked up. “What?”

            “Well…” Draco slid his hand over Harry’s shoulder, down his arm, stopped at his hand and tightened his fingers around Harry’s. “We’ve got this entire house to ourselves and most of a week off. I think twenty-four hours is enough time to waste being miserable, don’t you?”

Harry hesitated. “You’re really not… You’re really okay?”

“Yes,” Draco said firmly.

            “I’m still writing a letter.”

            “Mmm.” Draco leaned in and pressed a kiss to the hollow under Harry’s ear.

            Harry seemed to have a harder time speaking with Draco trailing kisses along his neck. “And you have to let me… do one interview alone.”

            Draco froze. Panic. “What?” He pulled back to look at Harry.

            Harry looked apologetic and like it hurt him to have caused whatever expression was on Draco’s face. “It’s the best way to move past it.”

            Draco made his face neutral and took a slow breath. “I don’t want you to feel you have to do something you don’t want to for my sake. Like you have to put yourself at risk or-”

            Harry snorted, surprising him. “Risk? I dealt with Skeeter during the whole of the Triwizard Tournament. I think I can handle another reporter for an hour or so. There’s no way the Ministry’d let me risk their reputation in a one-on-one with her.”

            The reminder that the Ministry had a stake in Harry’s safety made Draco feel a little better. Harry had a point. They couldn’t risk their prized auror going up against the press alone, and Draco had made it clear in the letter (printed in full on the front page of that morning’s paper, inspiring undying gratitude for Johnson) that their personal lives existed independently of their careers. Aside from providing opportunities to meet. But that was necessary disclosure.

            They couldn’t really afford to be dishonest. With the public or each other.

            Draco realized Harry had come out of it a little and smiled. “I can see my powers of persuasion are as effective as ever.”

            Harry frowned. “You’re right. But it’s still partially my fault.”

            Draco sighed in frustration. “Really, Potter? Because you’re the Boy Who Lived? Because all your relationships have the press banging down your door? Because if that’s why you’re sorry, you should probably stop apologizing. I’m Draco Malfoy, remember? I’d be up against this whether I was dating you or not. And don’t say it wouldn’t be as bad. Did you read what they printed when I dated a Hufflepuff? Enough people are convinced of your power for most not to think I’ve poisoned you. I know this isn’t reassuring, but I’ve had worse. I am perfectly capable of handling this. And I agreed, remember? To dating you. And fuck dating. I let myself fall in love with you. So do you really think any of this matters?”

            Fifteen emotions flew across Harry’s face. Draco caught them all and was relieved to see Harry settled on resignation. “It really doesn’t matter?”

            “No.”

            Harry’s expression switched to a beautiful cross between apprehension and giddiness. “You’re in love with me?”

            “Undoubtedly.”

            Harry’s shoulders relaxed a little. “I guess I can see why you might not have wanted to say that in front of Hermione, then. Or suggest we shag despite expecting a call from the Minister any minute now.”

            Draco shrugged. “He might not call today.”

“What if he does?”

            Draco made a noise of impatience. “He’ll have to ring first. Common courtesy for a closed Floo. And you have it set up to show which room you’re answering from, don’t you?”

            “Yes.”

            “I don’t think our Minister of Magic is clueless enough to come through to the bedroom.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows.

            “You could be asleep.”

Harry’s eyebrows went higher.

“Nonsense, Potter. This is absolutely the time. Unless you don’t want to.”

            And then, in that low, laughing way that made the thought of anything else ridiculous, the way that made Draco want to fall apart, Harry replied, “Oh, no. I do.”

            “You haven’t started kissing me yet,” Draco pointed out.

            “We really should wait.”

            “Gryffindor.”

            “I can’t tell if that was meant to be fond or if it’s a challenge.”

            “Can’t it be both?”

            Harry stared at Draco for a long minute. Then he pulled him in for a kiss. It was the one that promised heat and insistence and urgency and neither of them lasting very long because Harry needed Draco too much and Draco needed Harry too much and it had really stopped being a challenge at all the moment their lips met.

            They’d made it up to the bedroom and back down for snacks by the time the Minister called.

*

            “Fuck.” Draco collapsed onto his side of the bed, panting. They’d been holed up in the second floor bedroom for probably an entire day.

            Harry reached out and found his hand, squeezing in response.

            Draco beamed at the ceiling. “Glad to see I’m making your vacation worthwhile.”

            “More than worthwhile.” Harry rolled onto his side and shifted closer to Draco, lifting his head to rest on Draco’s shoulder.

            “High praise.”

            “Well.” Harry’s lips pressed to Draco’s collarbone before lifting to ghost over Draco’s. “I get to spend it with you. And you’re perfect.”

            Draco was probably blushing. He was definitely blushing. “Of course I am.”

            “No.” Harry moved away slightly to make proper eye contact. “I’m serious. This is perfect. You’re perfect. If the wizarding world wasn’t expecting me back at work next week- fuck the wizarding world. If you asked me to stay here with you forever, I would.”

            Draco was silent for a moment. Finally he said, “I love you.”

            “I love you.” Harry’s smile was blazing. “Is that a yes?”

            “No.”

            Harry groaned and fell back onto Draco’s chest.

            “Much as I’d love to stay in bed with you forever, we should probably go downstairs. And shower. Shower first, maybe.”

            “Mmm.”

            They stayed like that for a second.

            Then Draco said, “Maybe just a few more minutes. Or hours.”

            Harry murmured his agreement against Draco’s skin.

            Draco was smiling at the ceiling again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco is thinking about some things. He's going to make a cake next chapter to express his feelings.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco bakes a cake. Harry is indecisive.
> 
> Disclaimer: My notes are extensive and not entirely coherent. Read at risk of epilogue spoilers and knowing a little more about me than you probably want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Don't worry I fully plan on describing that master bedroom in detail like I have yet to describe anything in this fic in the epilogue. I have a vision.) Technically the last chapter but there will be an epilogue!!! That takes place in the future with FLASHBACKS! Please enjoy another chapter of these lovely young idiots being in love. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I will also go back and polish this story at some point. In the meantime, thanks for putting up with the occasional confusion, the lack of descriptive dialogue tags for Draco in chapter one, and a bunch of other stuff. This was a joy to write, and I hope you enjoyed it!

            “Do we have to go back to work tomorrow?” The week had been good. Harry thought so even though it had taken two days for the Ministry to get the owls away and he and Draco had only been able to sneak out into muggle London a few times for food or just for a walk.

            “Yes.”

            They were on a walk around Islington, going nowhere in particular, except maybe the church square where Harry enjoyed the trees and the quiet. Two streets away from a main road and London became a distant and familiar hum that reassured behind the peaceful quiet of open grass and cobbles. “We could quit.”

            Draco snorted. “You love your job. And I hardly think it’d be fulfilling, sitting around that house all day. Another week, maybe.”

            Harry was surprised Draco had responded with logic instead of incredulity. He considered the topic for a second and replied, “You love your job, too. And I guess I see what you mean. What about a year off? Think they’d take us back after?” He was still only half-serious. Although Draco’s mention of another week was tempting.

            “What, an extended vacation?” Draco sounded amused at the idea.

            “We could see the world. You’re always talking about France.” It suddenly occurred to Harry that he would very much like to see France, and more of Europe generally, and other continents. Apart from the occasional diplomatic trip as a favor to Kingsley, Harry had never been out of the UK.

            “I do intend to take you to France. Though I don’t think I’d need an entire year for it. We could visit Paris in a weekend. I suppose that would do, even if it wouldn’t be an exhaustive trip.” Draco paused, seeming to consider the trip to France Harry very much hoped they’d be taking in the near future. “In any case, I’ve got plans. Here, I mean. We can’t just leave.”

            Harry stared at him without breaking their tandem stride. “Plans?”

            “Plans,” Draco repeated. “Important plans,” he added solemnly with a glance at Harry.

            Harry wondered, but didn’t ask. Plans.

Harry decided he was looking forward to them.

*

            Harry recalled that moment in the square months later, a few days into April, when he came into the kitchen to find Draco waiting for him. Things had been going wonderfully. Or as wonderfully as they could have been with the repercussions of their announcement still dying down. They were relatively secluded at Grimmauld Place, given the fact that so few people knew they lived there. Harry and Draco had even been able to walk home a few times, which they hadn’t been able to do for a while after the announcement at risk of being followed.

            Barring the press’s renewed interest in both of them, Harry felt their relationship had evolved nicely. They still argued often, but it was a fond sort of arguing that sometimes had their friends perplexed and other times had them disgusted at Harry and Draco’s decreasing inclination to moderate outward shows of affection. Harry’s friends were mostly okay with it when he reminded them of some of the things he’d had to endure in the first years of _their_ relationships (Ron and Hermione both went red at that). Draco’s friends, who Harry had met a few times despite constantly hectic schedules and impossible workloads, were less understanding. Blaise was worse with the sex jokes than even George, and Pansy made a gagging sound if they walked into a room so much as holding hands. Which they did pretty often, post-honeymoon phase be damned. If anything, they were making more physical contact in public now that the wizarding world had had time to adjust to their relationship.

Harry had stayed at work a bit longer than usual to make up for being late after walking Draco to his office that morning. Draco, though, had mentioned leaving work early, saying he had something important to do. When Harry entered the kitchen, Draco had just waved his wand to close a cabinet. A gorgeous cake was sitting on one of the nicer Black family plates on the table.

            “What’s this?” It was clearly a cake, but Harry felt the need to ask.

            “A cake,” Draco confirmed.

            “It’s beautiful.” He stared at the twisting decorative pattern, white icing never repeating the exact same shape twice as it curled over the chocolate. “Did you-?”

            “Yes.” Then, quieter, “I told you I bake sometimes.”

            “Yeah.” They’d lived together long enough for Harry to have eaten three types of biscuits and more of the scones, but Draco had never… “I don’t think I was quite expecting-” Harry waved a hand towards the cake, “-this.”

            Draco was watching him, a hint of nerves visible beneath the calm. “Do you like it?”

            “Of course. It’s beautiful,” Harry repeated. He knew there had to be more words, but he was still marveling at the fact that Draco had made it.

            “I hoped you would.” Draco reached out, trailed a light hand down Harry’s arm. “You should try it.”

            “It looks too pretty to eat.”

             A smirk flashed across Draco’s face. “I think you’ve said the same about me once or twice, but that’s never stopped you.”

            Harry smiled. “Fine, then.” He moved to get a knife, but Draco swatted him away.

            “No. Let me.” He retrieved a knife and turned the cake slightly. With the precision of a surgeon, Draco cut into it, revealing that it was red underneath the icing. After creating a perfectly-shaped piece, Draco held out a hand. “Plate.”

            Harry obliged. Then he got two forks.

            “Alright.” Draco nudged the plate towards him. They were both leaning against the table, but there was still a bit of space between them.

            “You’ll try it with me?” Harry waved around the second fork.

            “You first,” Draco said smoothly, taking his fork from Harry and placing it on the table.

            “Okay.” Harry slid his fork into a corner. When he pulled it away, a glimmer of silver shone in the cake.

Raising his eyes to Draco, expectant, Harry caught his slight intake of breath as he looked up to meet Harry’s gaze. “Go on, Potter. You were judging my baking skills?”

            “Right.” Harry glanced down and plucked at the piece of silver. “Ah. It’s…” It was a ring. The split-second of expectation became a burst of shock, then a flood of joy. Harry was surprised again at the familiarity of the moment. An unfamiliar silver band in a scene he’d probably seen five times at least with all the romance films he’d seen. That was happiness, then, at the thought that Draco would do something so ridiculous and romantic and what else could that moment be if it meant- “Draco-”

            “Harry James Potter. Will you marry me?” Straightforward and determined and brave. With the most beautiful unwavering expression on his face. And calm. Even though he was clearly nervous. Because this, at least, was something he was certain of.

            So he would be uncertain of Harry’s reaction, then. Which should have made Harry respond faster, but his mind had been flooded of images of a wedding and the bedroom Draco still wouldn’t show him and a flash of blonde hair disappearing around a doorway- for a second Harry couldn’t say anything. Then the amazement faded just enough for him to say, “Yes.”

            Draco smiled. Nothing like the teasing tone in his voice, except maybe for the fact that the teasing sounded more like happiness than usual. “I still expect you to taste the cake, you know.”

            Harry lifted the ring and licked off a few crumbs. “Delicious.”

            With an impatient sound, Draco reached for his wand, cast a cleaning charm on the ring, and held out his hand. Harry dropped it into his palm and splayed out his fingers.

Draco slid the ring onto Harry’s finger. He stared at it for a second.

Harry was too busy staring at him to have gotten a good look at the thing. Finally, Harry said, “I have to get yours.”

Draco’s eyes flitted up to Harry’s. “Mine?”

“Yes. I got it a few weeks ago.”

“Weeks…?” More familiarity. This time in the form of disbelief and exasperation and affection mixing together in Draco’s expression. They really hadn’t been dating that long, nowhere near long enough for him to have been expecting Harry to have- or for Harry to have expected-

But they both knew.

Harry nodded. He was trying not to smile just yet. Saving it for when he saw the ring on Draco’s finger and whatever beautiful new expression that might cause (even though a part of Harry was convinced Draco’s ever-surprising array of expressions must have already all been unleashed on him by then). “Accio Draco’s engagement ring.”

“Won’t that just-?”

Harry shook his head and held up his hand. “This one’s mine.” He flipped his free hand over, palm out, and caught the gold ring that soared across the room to him. It was done with a lattice pattern, sturdy, but leaving small holes in the band itself. He’d chosen it because it struck a balance between steadfast and delicate and he thought it captured Draco perfectly. Harry raised his eyebrows.

Draco held his own hand out, eyes flashing. Harry glanced down, slipped the ring on Draco’s finger, and looked quickly up again.

Alight. His eyes were alight like there was fire behind them, the feeling that was hard to see, and Harry knew when he saw it that Draco never let it burn out.

At the moment it looked like love.

“I suppose we’re engaged, then,” Draco said. His voice cracked a little with excitement. He was letting Harry see everything.

Which made him amazed and happy all over again. “Yes.”

“We’ll have to make plans. Set a date and… put in an announcement.” Draco looked dazed. And exhilarated. And even more gorgeous than usual because of it.

“I think I’d rather like a little time being engaged to you. But I’d get married tomorrow, if you wanted.” Harry hadn’t expected to say it, but in his current state he knew everything that came out of his mouth was true, intentional or not. He loved the idea of being engaged to Draco; it was mostly his inability to think of a proper proposal, and a nagging fear that Draco might object to being married for a reason Harry couldn’t quite name (they’d talked about it- of course they’d talked about it, serious as they were, but-) that had kept him from proposing sooner.

Draco looked surprised at his answer. And impatient. “You’d like time… I’d marry you tomorrow. I’d marry you _tonight_ if we could. But my mother and a few others- your Weasleys included, I’m sure- would kill me if we didn’t do it properly.”

Harry laughed. “Yes. They would.”

“And you want to be engaged.” It wasn’t a question, but there was interest and curiosity and a definite hint of surprise in his expression, then.

Harry beamed. “I do.”

“So I suppose I can wait. At least as long as it takes to plan the wedding. And…” Draco hesitated, seeming to decide something, and continued, “I think I would like to get married at the Manor. If you’d… I mean, it’s the perfect place for a wedding, and-”

Harry kissed him. Draco returned the kiss after a second of surprise. It was hot and hopeful and all- all a confirmation, like it was the only other way to declare to themselves and each other that they really were engaged. When Harry pulled back, he smiled apologetically. He had interrupted Draco, after all. “We can get married wherever you want.”

“Really?”

“I’ve just got engaged to you. And where else would we get married? Here?” he laughed.

Draco laughed a bit, too, though he looked startled, still. “No. I guess not.” His eyes turned playful. “Especially since the heating doesn’t work…”

Right. “You keep distracting me.”

“Yes, of course, blame your fiancé… I’m not the one who inherited the house. I’m not the one who watches hours of home improvement television for research purposes…”

“Hey! You’ve got your cakes.” Harry’s voice softened. “And you did this.” He glanced down not at the cake, but at his ring, to look at it properly for the first time. It was a simple band, thin, white gold instead of silver knowing Draco, with a thin line of engraving around it. It looked like vines, maybe. “This is beautiful.”

“You love that word today.” Draco smiled softly before glancing down at his own ring. “Your taste isn’t as horrible as I thought.”

“It never has been. You’re beautiful.” That got Draco’s eyes up to his again, and Harry smiled and reached for his waist.

“I suppose I walked into that one.”

Harry kept smiling and didn’t reply.

“Though, if you really do mean it…” his eyebrows were high as ever and his features betrayed only exasperated amusement.

Harry arranged his features into absolute solemnity before responding. He found it surprisingly easy, even with Draco looking at him like that. “Of course I mean it.”

Draco gave a delighted laugh and closed the distance between them, throwing his arms around Harry.

Harry smiled into the kiss and pulled him closer.

*

            “Oh, well, that’s…” Hermione sighed and looked as if she were bracing herself. “Have you spoken to his father?”

            “Have I… what?” Harry blinked, bewildered.

            “Draco’s from a very old wizarding family. While I know full well that’s never slowed either of you down for a second, I’m reasonably certain you need to at least _inform_ the current head of the family of your engagement to secure Draco’s inheritance-”

            “Current head… Hermione, I don’t-”

            She launched from a frustrated groan into an interruption, which Harry didn’t mind, so long as it contained some explanation. “Wizarding inheritance is complicated. I don’t know if you ever saw the paperwork for Grimmauld Place, but there were quite a few loopholes that needed to be exploited to pass the house on to someone who wasn’t directly descended from Sirius.”

            “Hermione? When did you-?”

            “A while ago. Before we came to stay here, actually. I had to make sure the house wasn’t going to do anything strange when we took up residence in it. Hardly would’ve been a good hideout if it was trying to attack us.”

“It can do that?” asked Harry, taken aback.

            “Well, yes. A wizarding house as old as that one is bound to have a complicated history, and with a family as paranoid as the Blacks that usually means- anyway, that isn’t the point. We can discuss all this later, if you want. What I’m trying to say is that you’re going to need to get married through official channels to make sure Draco’s inheritance goes through alright. Otherwise things will get difficult once his father decides to pass on his role as head of the family, and a legal process like that would cause a lot of undue stress-”

            “Hang on.” Harry held up his hands. He was kneeling on the rug in the drawing room, speaking to Hermione through the Floo. He’d barely had a minute to talk with her and Ron earlier that week, an opportunity which he had exploited to announce his engagement. They’d had only a few seconds to congratulate him and confirm that the wedding was set for ‘indefinite date at least months from now’ before they all had to return to work. Hermione had mentioned an important discussion, but hers and Harry’s schedules clashed so as to make that discussion necessarily take place via Floo call at 10pm on Thursday. Draco was upstairs, only an occasional clatter breaking through the silencing charms he was casting regularly to make sure Harry hadn’t the slightest idea what he was doing to their future bedroom. “You mean to tell me that I have to ask Lucius Malfoy if I can marry his son? Despite my being the reason he’s in Azkaban? And despite Draco being the one who proposed?”

            Hermione sighed again. “Look, Harry, I know it’s going to be difficult, but it’s the simplest way to go about it. You’re not the reason he’s in Azkaban, he is, and, really, all you need to do is have a discussion. I’m sure Draco knew about this, which is probably why he got the jump on you before you could think of a decent way to propose.” Hermione barreled on, oblivious to Harry’s splutters of protest, or possibly just ignoring them. “The family needs to be in full agreement to the arrangement before you get married. It will be easier since Draco was the one who asked you, but it isn’t formal unless both families have spoken about it. Since you’re the current head of your family, that means…”

            Harry felt his expression turn skeptical in spite of his best efforts. “I have to agree to give myself away to Draco?”

            “Basically, yes.”

            Harry ran a hand though his hair and sighed. “Brilliant.” Before Hermione could come out with a word of reassurance, he added, “Give me a minute,” and stood. Harry went out onto the landing and looked up. “Draco!” he yelled.

            A door opened and closed, and Draco came barreling down the stairs to stop unsteadily a step above Harry. “Yes?”

            “You don’t need to come down every time I- never mind. I have Hermione on the Floo, and she says there’s something to do with inheritance and me having to agree to marry you in an official discussion with your family.”

            Draco’s expression turned grim, and he marched into the drawing room. Before reaching the fireplace, he said, “I’ve gone over the laws, Hermione. What have you found?” He settled on the rug in front of the fire. Harry went to sit behind him, barely resisting the urge to reach out to coax the tension from his neck. Neither of them needed the distraction at the moment.

            “While technically you’re the head of the family until your father’s back home, that’s just a technicality.”

            Harry silently thanked Hermione for her diplomatic phrasing as Draco nodded and said, “Yes, I know. That’s why I’ve proposed to him. But-?”

            “But Harry is still a member of an old wizarding family, as well. In this case, the heads of the families have to agree, meaning-”

            “If my father doesn’t like it by the time he gets out, wedding or not, I’ll be disinherited.”

            “Exactly.”

            Harry glanced between them. “You can’t tell me wizarding inheritance law is so archaic as to put the _feelings_ of the head of a family above actual legal-” but he cut off when he thought of the portrait of Walburga Black, which Draco had yet to find a way to unstick from the wall. Harry grimaced.

            A reassuring hand reached back to take his, and Harry shook himself back to reality as Hermione replied, “I’m sorry, Harry. As long as the current relevant wizarding families are satisfied with the old laws, there isn’t much hope of getting around them.”

            Harry nodded. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of having the necessary conversation with Lucius Malfoy, but if there was no way around it… “Thanks, Hermione.”

            “Yes, thank you,” Draco echoed, sincerity plain on his face. “I should have realized…”

            Hermione shook her head. “Wizarding law is so convoluted it’s a wonder you were able to confirm your plan would work.”

            “It wouldn’t have, though,” Draco insisted, “so thank you.”

            Hermione sighed. “It was really nothing. I have to sift through this stuff all the time to get around the law anyway- it’s the reason the Ministry hires me so often.”

            “Yes.” Draco surprised Harry with a laugh. “I am well-acquainted with the Ministry’s inability to simplify their paperwork. Half my department’s material ends up classified, and most of that stuff’s notes on experiments that don’t even work.”

            “I’ll pretend I didn’t just hear that, then.” Hermione bit her lip, then, and shot a glance at Harry. “I really do need to get going soon. Are you alright?”

            “Yeah,” Harry said. “It’ll be fine.” He looked up at Draco.

            His expression was unreadable. “Thanks again, Hermione.”

            “Of course. Call again if you need anything.”

            They exchanged a round of goodbyes and Hermione’s face disappeared from the fire. For a few seconds, neither Harry nor Draco moved, still holding hands.

            Draco turned. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

            “Yes. It’s you I’m worried about.”

            “Me?”

            Harry took Draco’s carefully-skeptical expression as confirmation of his concern. It didn’t look like he was worried for his own sake, but- “Yes. Are you going to be okay seeing your dad again?”

            Draco looked uncertain for a long second. Then he let all traces of the mask drop and raised his free hand to Harry’s cheek, determination arranging his features. “Yes.”

            “Are you s-”

            “Anything,” Draco said. Harry wondered if that was the same expression he had on his face all those months ago on their awkward second real date when he said the same word to Draco and meant it. Because he knew Draco meant it then, as much as Harry would were he to say it again-anything. He would do anything for him.

            Harry kept his voice gentle as he said, “Let me know whenever you’re ready?”

            Draco nodded.

            Harry leaned into his hand and turned to kiss his palm. His next words are murmured against Draco’s skin. “Is the honeymoon suite ready yet?”

            “Why do you keep calling it that?” But through the exasperation, Draco’s eyes hinted at a smile.

            “That’s what it is.”

            “We already had our honeymoon, Harry. It started when we made the intelligent decision to acknowledge our feelings and ended when you refused to quit your job to take me to France.”

Harry could tell by the way Draco countered his irked tone with the use of his first name that he was feeling especially affectionate, so Harry kept his teasing light. “I believe it was _you_ who shot down that idea. And wouldn’t you be the one taking me to France? I’ve never been there.”

“Maybe. Just now I’d rather take you to bed.”

“Mmm. You don’t look in the mood to ravish me tonight, though.”

“Don’t I?”

“No.” Harry smiled. “You look more in the mood to be lulled to sleep by a very long list of reasons I want to marry you.”

“Is the list that long, or will I be bored by the repetition?”

“Both, possibly.”

And then Draco surprised him again, he was always surprising him, by sliding his arms behind Harry and lifting him with apparent ease. “Do you possibly have a plan to make love to me before lulling me to sleep?”

“Possibly. If spending the past few hours on my favorite wedding present hasn’t exhausted you completely.”

“How do you know it’s your favorite wedding present?” He didn’t ask how Harry knew it was going to be a wedding present, because, between the window they were already discussing for the wedding and the projected end date of Draco’s project, it hadn’t been too difficult to guess.

“Because it’s from you.”

Draco leaned down to kiss Harry with a haste that Harry had long since come to recognize as an attempt to hide a smile. “You’re being ridiculous, as usual,” he said lightly when he raised his head.

Harry’s smile widened at the sight of the small one on Draco’s lips. “That’s why you love me.”

“Yes,” and Draco’s smile was suddenly so brilliant Harry was grateful he was no longer responsible for supporting his own weight. “That is why I love you.”

“I love you, too,” was all Harry could manage in response. But he thought that was okay, because they had made it to the bedroom, and they were kissing again, and every place his skin touched Draco’s and every gasped repetition of the phrase by a glowing Draco reminded Harry of a thousand more reasons why he loved him so much.

*

            It went much better than Draco had expected.

            Mostly his father seemed resigned to their relationship and accepting, if begrudgingly, that his and Draco’s mother’s lives would be a whole lot easier if he went along with it.

            Harry was absolutely wonderful until the point when he invited Draco’s father to the wedding, which had Draco coughing to hide his alarm and his father gazing at Harry with extreme doubt.

            Then Lucius looked merely surprised for a moment before likely writing off the invitation as a typically Gryffindor (or maybe typically Harry) gesture. “I think I’d rather not risk my life for a few hours outside Azkaban.” He didn’t comment on how convenient it was that Draco had chosen to marry the one person who could get him out of prison, which was a good sign, Draco thought. But then a look crossed his father’s eyes for a split second. It looked like it might have been… regret, if Draco’s judgment was sound.

            Harry didn’t seem to notice. “I understand.”

            “I do hope you’ll forgive me for not requesting you wait. I doubt my presence will be more welcome among that many Weasleys in a few more years, and I wouldn’t want you postponing your entrance into marital bliss on my account.” The nonchalance in his tone was astonishing; rather than being undercut by contempt or malice or disgust, his father’s casual attitude remained disaffected.

            Harry deferred to Draco with a look, at that point, so Draco replied, “Of course. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get properly… reacquainted later.”

            “Yes.” Lucius stood to shake Draco’s hand. Which he turned it into an unexpected, one-armed hug to say so low only Draco could hear, “I suppose I’m proud of you, anyway.”

            Draco froze, taken completely off guard. He schooled his features into blankness when his father stepped back, stifling another wave of surprise when Lucius and Harry shook hands. It took a light touch of his elbow by Harry to remind him they’d been on their way out. Draco followed Harry dazedly to the Apparition point and nodded silent assent to Harry’s offer to take them back to Grimmauld Place.

            “You okay?”

            Draco blinked and turned to Harry. “Yes. My father just… surprised me.”

            Rather than ask what he meant, Harry pressed, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

            “Fine. Shocked, yes. Conflicted at the sudden unsolicited- at least by me- surge of affection I have for a man who guided me into the worst situation of my life at the advanced age of fifteen.”

            Harry hesitated. “Do you want to-?”

            The words came out before Draco could consider them. “He told me he was proud of me. While managing to indirectly insult you, even though I’m not entirely sure that makes sense given the context of the discussion. Or, it must make sense. It’s my father, after all.” Draco laughed.

            Harry’s hand reached up to rest lightly on his shoulder. “He’s still your dad. And even you think I’m an idiot, and you’re engaged to me.”

            “Yes.” Draco raised his eyes to Harry’s, finally. “Still,” he added with an amazed smile.

            After a moment of Harry apparently waiting for Draco to go on ranting or break down completely or something else along those lines, Draco said, “I really am fine. Or I will be in a few minutes.”

Harry dropped his hand and drifted towards the door. They’d come into the drawing room. “Tea or coffee?”

            “Tea.”

Harry made a reassuring cup of tea. Draco felt reassurance was probably better than the anticipation of stress he associated with coffee because he drank it before work.

            The tea did reassure Draco, and helped him calm down as he drank it and rambled off many long-unsaid things about his father and his family and his childhood. Most of what he said was probably incoherent, thoughts and memories from various points throughout his life that didn’t seem connected by anything in particular apart from the fact that they sprang into Draco’s head right after he had finished the thing before. When he finally ran out of things to say and lapsed into silence, Harry surprised him by launching into a description of his own childhood. He had only told Draco fragments before that. By the time Harry, too, had talked himself out, Draco had set aside his third cup of tea to grip Harry’s hand in both of his.

            “I like this,” Harry said, raising his hand with Draco’s wrapped around it, “but you don’t have to- I mean, I think I just figured you deserved to know. Since you told me.”

Draco smiled slightly. “Maybe that’s why we fell in love.”

Harry laughed. “Both of us had sort of fucked childhoods?”

“Yeah.” Draco was serious as he said it.

Harry contemplated this for a moment. “I think I’m okay with that. Since we’re here, now.”

“I think I am, too.”

They stared at each other lovingly for a moment before Harry’s face lit up as if he’d just remembered something. “I’m glad I finally found you.”

Draco sucked in a breath. He remembered saying it to Harry on one of their first nights together, when he’d thought Harry was asleep.

Harry hastened to explain, only a little apologetic under the contentedness still on his face. “You may talk in your sleep a little. Or underestimate the time it takes me to fall asleep.”

To his own surprise and probably Harry’s, Draco smiled at that. “You talk in your sleep, too. And I’m pretty sure we hardly ever fall asleep at the same time.”

“Must not’ve been too important, though, because you proposed, anyway,” Harry pointed out.

“I’d do it again,” Draco said, and leaned in to kiss Harry before he could reply.

*

            Following a negotiation in which Draco failed spectacularly, they decided to get married in the spring.

            Not that spring, which was almost over, but the next. It’d give them plenty of time to plan the wedding and beg a decent amount of time off work and fall almost completely out of the pages of the Prophet before people started demanding wedding features.

            Not that any of those reasons was very compelling, especially to Draco. He hadn’t thought so when Harry was waxing poetic about how much it meant to look forward to the wedding, and he didn’t think so less than a month after they got engaged when they came in from a walk arguing about it again. Draco reminded Harry that the long engagement would delay the giving of his wedding present.

“It can’t possibly take an entire year to redecorate a single room.” Harry shut the front door behind him and turned his disbelieving expression on Draco.

“Ah. Well. I’m not exactly doing _just_ the bedroom…”

“Draco!”

And it was the tone that meant Harry would demand an answer a second later if he didn’t give one, so Draco said, “You can’t have expected me to use the stairs every time I needed a piss in the middle of the night for the rest of my life.” They were on the stairs in question, so that seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject.

Harry’s mood shifted from exasperation to hopeful caution in a second. “We’re staying at Grimmauld Place for the rest of our lives?”

“Hardly. I mean, yes, we need to keep the house for work, but you can’t very well expect me to raise our children outside my own childhood home, either, tainted memories be damned-”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “We have children, now?”

Draco kept his tone casual. “Well, yes. I am still under the impression you want them, and, like Hermione said, the inheritance- I need someone to inherit the Malfoy estate, don’t I?”

Harry’s voice was unexpectedly quiet. “Every time before this you’ve mentioned kids it’s always sounded sarcastic.”

Draco fumbled for the drawing room door behind him, refusing to break eye contact with Harry. “You know as well as I do that half the times I’m sarcastic it’s to hide the fact that I mean something but don’t want to admit it.”

“What’s this?” Harry grinned abruptly. “Draco Malfoy, unveiling his true feelings? Giving away his secrets? Making ten-year-plans with his fiancée?”  
            “ _Ten_ years? I hope you aren’t serious! We aren’t getting any younger, Potter, and I plan to convince you to move up the wedding by at least six months, so, if you’re talking about plans-”

“Ha! You’ve just admitted another one.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “I don’t see how that helps you. You’re the one whose desire for a proper long engagement is getting in the way of me having to get your wedding present done sooner.”

“Well.” Harry looked sheepish.

“Well what?”

He smiled. “I get to see more of you when you’re trying to draw the renovations out. You’re not locked up in that room all the time.”

“You’ve just given up the game,” Draco said, silently cursing himself for not having realized it sooner. Then he smiled. “Ah.”

“What?” Harry looked worried.

As well he should be, thought Draco. “Just because it’s done doesn’t mean I’ll need to show you. In fact, I think it’ll be even harder to wait that way, once you know it’s finished. Of course, I adore spending time with you, and I’ll have more time once the room’s done. But imagine all the time we’ll get to spend together in our new bedroom after we’ve declared our love in a ridiculous outdated ceremony that makes you mine absolutely forever-”

Harry’s expression was torn between amusement and longing. “Is _that_ what marriage is? I was under the impression it was a ‘ridiculous pureblood formality’ and that you’d ‘just as soon not get married at all’ if not for the fact that you felt obligated to bind us together in every way possible.”

Well. Draco _had_ said that. But he’d thought the concept of being bound together for all eternity, possibly with the assistance of a few of the saner marriage spells, had sounded like something he wanted enough not to mind the fact that marriage was also ridiculous pureblood formality. “We can get married tomorrow.” Draco hoped Harry knew he wasn’t kidding.

And then a blinding smile broke out across Harry’s face. “I think I’d rather wait.”

Draco let out a stream of expletives and kicked a chair. He immediately regretted the chair-kicking, because it hurt his foot enough to make him swear a bit more.

Harry carried on smiling. “We’re going to get married in the spring. There’ll be loads of flowers and new leaves and we’ll try and get a sunny day so it isn’t freezing, and then we can holiday properly in the summer when most people do-”

“Summer’s crowded. We should get married in the fall so you can see the leaves change in Paris.”

“Who said anything about Paris? We have a whole year to decide where to go. Maybe find a place in the middle of nowhere so you don’t have to deal with the tourist crowds-”

Draco felt his resolve wavering at a suggestion he would very much like to indulge, but he pressed on. “I wouldn’t mind the crowds if we got married this summer.”

“You’d probably burn in the sun, though. So maybe we could do early spring. I’m sure it’d be cold, but nowhere would be crowded and we would get to see everything come alive somewhere new-”

“We’d make good time if we got married tomorrow. There are still a few weeks of spring left.” At that point, Draco probably sounded desperate, but he’d stopped caring.

“We can’t get married tomorrow.”

“I can call the Weasleys now. Charlie’s in town for- something, I think one of his dragons got transferred and Molly convinced him to spend a few days at home- and the Ministry’s slowing down because of that upcoming bank holiday, so everyone will have some time to spare, and you told me yesterday that Ron and Hermione were planning to have us for dinner this week, so they’ve got to have free time-”

“Hang on.” Harry was staring at him. “Since when do you know the Weasley family’s schedules better than I do?”

“Doesn’t matter. Shall I call them?” Draco was standing next to the fire.

“We can’t. We’ve got plans.”

“Not really.”

“We can’t expect other people not to have them, then.”

            Draco grabbed the Floo powder pot off the mantle and raised his eyebrows. “I know the Weasley family’s schedules better than you do, remember?”

            A hint of something flickered into Harry’s expression. Something good, Draco thought. “It’s inconsiderate to expect people to do something on such short notice.”

            “They’re your family, they’re used to it by now.”

            Ah, yes, there was definitely something- “Your mother isn’t.”

            “She’s got nothing to do this week, either.”

            Harry actually looked like he was considering it.

            “Come on, Harry! When did you start being the logical one?”

            That seemed to do it. “Around the same time you started letting your impatience get the better of you,” Harry muttered sarcastically, but he went over to the fireplace all the same.

            “Shall I call Ron and Hermione first?”

            “You’re…” Harry shook his head slightly. Blinked. “You’re serious.”

            “Did you think I wasn’t?”

            After a moment of stunned silence, “You’re always surprising me.”

            Draco realized he was holding his breath. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

            Harry stared at him for a long moment.

            Then he turned and strolled towards the door.

            “Harry?” But Draco knew the battle was already lost.

            “I’m not saying ‘no’ to moving the date. But that doesn’t mean we don’t need to prepare.” From the sound of his voice, Harry was already halfway down the stairs.

            “Why am I engaged to you?” Draco yelled, not really expecting an answer.

            “Because you love me!” Harry shouted back confidently.

            Draco felt a wave of gratitude that Harry wasn’t there to see the very dreamy, very un-Draco-like expression on his face. It’d just make him smile, and Draco wouldn’t ever be able to stop smiling, then.

            But then he heard a soft, “Draco,” from the doorway, and whipped his head around, and there Harry was, staring at him and smiling. “Think we can get enough time off to get married for your birthday and still be off for mine?”

            Draco blinked.

            “I mean, we’ve got no time at all to plan this way, and I suppose it’ll be harder making travel arrangements, but neither of us has missed too much time off lately, and if I ask Kingsley I’m sure he’d-” Harry cut off as Draco strode past conversational distance and threw his arms around him. Harry laughed and returned the embrace. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

            All Draco could say was, “Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, there will be an epilogue. With a description of that RAD master redecoration Draco finishes. Still not sure if Harry's fixed the heating, yet. I'll have to ask him.
> 
> Yeah, he said he's still casting the damned warming charms. Ah, well. HE CAN DO THE COOLING CHARMS AT THE WEDDING I CAN ONLY FLASH BACK TO IN THE EPILOGUE (sorry) BECAUSE I DON'T THINK I'm capable of that level of intense emotional fluff.
> 
> Thanks for reading hope you stick around for more domesticity and DRACO WITH A BABY STRAPPED TO HIS CHEST. (Everyone knows that's the easiest way. How else is he supposed to work otherwise?)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally finished redecorating. Don't ask where they went on their honeymoon I don't have the slightest idea. If ever I find out I'll possibly make a ficlet of it.

            “It’s beautiful.”

            “You said that about the cake. And me,” Draco added as an afterthought.

            “No, I…” Harry shook his head before tearing his eyes away from the room to gaze at Draco. “I mean it. It’s… us.” He was standing in the middle of the room, and Draco had to admit he looked like he belonged there.

            Harry was hovering near the foot of the bed. Draco had got them a bigger one, rich darkest brown wood polished to high shine, centered under the window with their trunks stacked up at the footboard as a makeshift bench. The linens were as green and red as they could be without being too Christmasy, though that didn’t matter much since they’d got together around Christmas. The room was a little reminiscent of their dormitories, too. It was something Harry didn’t seem to realize he did when he added things to rooms, but there was always that hint of Hogwarts in the familiarity of this table or that carpet. The plaid blanket was an attempt to get away from that just a little, and the warm brown walls that were bright like most of the other ones Harry’d done in the house. Draco had kept the floor, of course, refinished to its original fall-tinted glory, lighter than the furniture but dark enough for him to have worried about it a little. There was a squashy green armchair in one corner and a red one in another, framing the fireplace, and the wall next to the door and opposite the bed was taken up with a huge long dresser Draco had found in the attic and redone completely. There was a bookshelf on the left wall, Harry’s side of the bed, and the two mismatched nightstands they’d claimed from different rooms in the house when Draco first moved in. He’d had to do those that morning while Harry was conveniently insisting they not see each other before the ceremony.

            Draco felt satisfaction tingle warmly out to his fingertips at the sight of Harry in that room. “That’s what I was going for.”

“Well, I think you achieved it.” Harry turned back to the room. “How’d you make it look like not Christmas?”

            “While preserving a color scheme reminiscent of both our common rooms but still making it look… different?”

            Harry nodded. “And like us.”

            Draco shrugged. “I did have months.”

            Harry spared him a disbelieving glance before continuing around the bed to better examine the chairs. He tested the green one, then the red while Draco drifted in from the doorway. “Which one’s mine?”

            “I like the red one.”

            “Fine, then.” Harry stood and nodded to the green chair. “That corner’s better, anyway. And it’ll be easier for you to pile your things on the chair if it’s right next to your side of the bed.”

            “I have a nightstand,” Draco said defensively.

            “I noticed.” Harry beamed. “I was wondering how you’d solve it.”

            “Well, I can’t have one without a shelf, and you’ve got that drawer filled with spare glasses and other unnecessary things, and they already matched the house…” he trailed off as Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards the bed.

            “Which bed did you choose?”

            “You’re going to hurt yourself over the trunks.”

            Harry opened his mouth confidently before the back of his legs hit the trunks and he flopped down onto them with a gasp that only made his smile falter for a second. It seemed to get wider, actually, after he’d proved Draco right.

            Draco smirked and leaned obligingly forward as Harry pulled himself back onto the bed.

            “Oh.” He looked surprised.

            Draco raised his eyebrows.

            “You chose this one.”

            “You did say it was your favorite.”

            Harry furrowed his brow. “But you didn’t like it.”

            “Cushioning charms.”

            “Ah.” Harry still looked hesitant.

            “Your nightmares are worse,” Draco insisted. “It’s much harder to charm it the other way. And seeing as how I can practically do cushioning charms in my sleep, anyway, being the resident charms expert.”

            Harry’s expression relaxed. “Alright.” Then he yanked Draco down on top of him.

            Draco grinned. “I was hoping you’d like to test the recreational purposes of this bed before we left.”

            “How many days do we have?”

            “Two. Three if we bribe the Portkey office into changing our departure date again.”

            “Good. We need to sleep in it.”

            Draco agreed. He kissed Harry once in affirmation before glancing at the door. “I will have to show you the ensuite. And the closet.”

            “Later.”

            Draco didn’t need telling twice.

*

            Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the knock at the door. He had been watching Draco flitting about the drawing room making small adjustments to the dishes and the furniture. After shooting Draco a warm smile (which he returned with a slightly nervous-looking one), Harry went down the stairs and into the hallway.

            “Happy New Year! Alright?” Ron’s easy smile matched Harry’s. His cheeks were red form the cold.

            Harry stepped back right away to let them in. “Alright. Happy New Year. Hermione?”

            “I’m well, thank you.”

            “Didn’t ask how I was,” Ron said, still smiling, as he shook the snow from his hair.

            “I expect you’re fine. You didn’t come in complaining about anything.”

            “Fair enough. Where’s your husband?”

            “Waiting for you to go upstairs and praise his baking skills.”

            “Did he make those little artichoke thingies again?” Ron asked hopefully.

            Harry nodded.

            “Save me some,” Hermione said as Ron barreled up the stairs.

            “He didn’t put them all out,” Harry offered.

            “He _is_ quite thoughtful about these things.” Hermione hung her coat on a free wall hook. “Have you been having a good holiday?”

            Harry grinned. “They actually let me take off this year. Got back from Paris yesterday.”

            “Oh, you finally got to go! What was your favorite part?”

            His first thoughts were of Draco’s arse, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what Hermione was looking for. “Er…” He wracked his brain, trying to think to the parts that hadn’t been spent in their hotel room. “We didn’t have time to see everything. I liked the Orangerie, though.”

            “I did, too. It’s very…” Hermione sighed and looked him dead in the eyes before continuing, “intimate.”

            “We were away from the hotel at least _some_ of the time,” Harry protested.

            Hermione cracked a smile. “I’m only teasing. Given the way Draco and I debated the merits of the Mona Lisa last time you came over, I think it’s safe to wager you’ll be back there before too long.”

            “I really did like the Monets. The Mona Lisa I’m not so sure about.”

            “You weren’t indoctrinated to Draco’s opinion the moment you walked into the room?”

            Harry shook his head. “Just the opposite. He said he wanted me to get the full effect.”

            Hermione stared at him for a second, then started up the stairs, shaking her head. Harry followed. They found Ron nodding along to something Draco was saying about the food while he took slow bites of an ‘artichoke thingy.’ Draco greeted Hermione warmly as Ron backed onto the sofa, still gazing reverently at his pastry.

            “One of us should stay downstairs,” Hermione said. Evidently she knew better than to expect her recent announcement not to exempt her immediately from this duty, because she joined Ron on the sofa. “Unless you want to put a sign on the door or something.”

            “I can do it,” Harry said. He liked answering the door for dinners; people’s eyes always lit up right when the door opened, ‘wonder what’s taking so long’ giving way to ‘good to see you,’ and with his friends he always knew they meant it.

            “I need to go and get the drinks,” Draco said.

            Harry ignored Hermione’s dually exasperated and obliging ‘I-told-you-so’ expression and her muttered comment about “Heaven forbid they let the pregnant one carry anything” and said nothing as Draco followed him back downstairs.

            “What did you two talk about while I was explaining the finer points of pastry dough?”

            Smiling, Harry spun on his heel. He caught Draco as he careened into him. “Paris.”

            “So, how you couldn’t keep your hands off me, then?” Draco raised his eyebrows, but he was relaxed in Harry’s arms.

            “She asked what I liked most there. For a second I had trouble thinking of something. Well, apart from you naked. I said I liked the Monets.”

            “They’re beautiful.” Draco pulled Harry closer, burying his face in Harry’s neck.

            “Weren’t you supposed to be getting drinks?”

            “Five more minutes.”

            “Draco.”

            Draco pulled back just far enough to stare at Harry. “I’ve been running around this house all day getting things ready for our friends. There hasn’t been anywhere near enough time for me to do _this_ -” he paused, kissed Harry intently, and pulled back again, “-so I think, ten seconds into the party or not, it really shouldn’t matter.”

            Harry blinked. Then he said, all astonishment, “What did I do to deserve you?”

            “You saved the wizarding world,” Draco murmured, already burrowing into Harry’s shoulder again.

            “Hardly. That was all Neville. And your mum.”

            “You should mention that the next time you see her.”

            Harry kissed the top of his head. “I’ll be sure to remember.”

            They stood like that for a minute before someone knocked.

            “Drinks,” Draco murmured, releasing Harry.

            “You should make Ron get them. You look exhausted.”

            “I’m the host. And I can levitate them.”

            “But that’ll still be-”

            Draco interrupted him with a call towards the door. “Coming!” He took a step towards the kitchen stairs, then hesitated. In a voice just loud enough for Harry to hear, and absurdly sultry besides, he said, “I’m bottoming tonight.”

            Harry was still blushing when he opened the door.

*

            “Hermione wants to know if you can babysit on Wednesday.”

Draco peered at him over the top of his glasses. “Wednesday? I’ve got work the next day. I’ve got work on Wednesday, also, for which I will probably be bringing something home-”

            “It’s only from three to seven.”

            Amazing, Draco thought, how he made that sound like a reasonable amount of time. “I’d have to come home early.”

            “You’d get to spend extra time with Cygnus.” Harry looked pointedly at the baby in question, who Draco had in the sling in case he needed to get up to change books.

He supposed the sight of Cygnus dozing in his lap was fuel for Harry’s point. “Yes, and _other children_.”

            “But you’re great with children.”

            Draco made a face. “My children. My child. Cygnus James Potter-Malfoy. And Teddy. Not other people’s kids.”

            “You like Rose.”

            “Admittedly, I could stand to spend more than fifteen minutes in her presence. But she is not an only child.”

            “Hugo’s a baby.”

            It was Draco’s turn to glance pointedly at Cygnus. “You’re going to leave me with two of them? And a four-year-old who will demand constant attention?”

            “I’ll be home eventually.”

            “When?”

            Harry pulled his best apologetic pleading look, which, while it was known to work even in Draco’s most stubborn moments, was also an obvious indicator of guilt. “Six.”

            Draco glanced away before Harry’s expression could get to him. “Absolutely not.”

            Still, he could feel Harry’s eyes bearing down on him. “Please?”

“I acquiesce to reasonable responses only, Potter, as you well know.”

            “But we owe them. They took Cyg last weekend.” He was doing that puppy-dog-eye thing. Draco could feel it.

            Draco sighed heavily and closed his book before making eye contact. “And how, exactly, do you plan to repay me for the three of four hours that you will not be helping me babysit?”

            A brilliant smile lit Harry’s face. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

            Damn Harry and his beautiful suggestive fucking smile. Draco sighed as dramatically as he could. “Fine.”

            And of course Harry’s smile got even more wonderful after Draco agreed. Which, he tried to convince himself, had absolutely no bearing on his agreement. “Great,” Harry said brightly, and promptly disappeared. Only to reappear a few seconds later. “Have you seen Teddy?”

            “No.”

            “He promised me a game of chess, but every time I ask about it he seems to vanish.”

            “Possibly because he doesn’t want to pretend to lose again.”

            “He- what?”

            Draco looked up to meet Harry’s bewildered gaze. “Loathe to hurt your feelings, I think, since he knows how excited you are to teach him. He gets that from you.”

            Guilt flashed across Harry’s face, followed by resolve that settled into skepticism. “I’ll ask him about it. Maybe set up a game with Ron, then. And I don’t see how he can have inherited my self-sacrificing Gryffindor streak, given he doesn’t even live here.”

            Draco raised his eyebrows. “That trait sounds more Hufflepuff than Gryffindor. And you have a very strong influence. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”

            After a grudging smile in reply, Harry went off up the stairs, likely with some idea of where Teddy might be now he knew his godson didn’t want to be found.

            “Lucky I love him so much,” Draco murmured to Cyg, and went back to reading.

*

            “Why don’t you call him by his initials?”

            “Because we’re civilized parents and if we did he’d likely refuse to reply. He hates the name more than I do.” Draco took a sip of his drink and stared out across the lawn.

            “A reassuring testament to your parenting,” Narcissa agreed, following his gaze. When they were sitting next to each other, Harry couldn’t help but be taken aback by the resemblance.

He was used to it with Draco and Cyg. Somehow, though, despite how often they saw Narcissa, he never seemed to catch her and Draco side-by-side like that. They were sitting in matched terrace chairs facing the Manor grounds. The sunlight was bright, setting their paleness in stark contrast with Harry’s and Ellie’s tans and making Cygnus look like he was glowing as he ran back and forth across the grass. He kept meaning to discuss spending more time at the Manor with Draco and Narcissa- she was travelling half the time, the other half only wanting to see her grandchildren. On the rare occasions Lucius came back from abroad with her he spent most of his time in his study, exiting every once in a while to be ambushed by Ellie and Cyg.

But then, Draco hadn’t actually mentioned leaving Grimmauld Place; supplemented Harry’s renovations just short of carving a Malfoy family crest into the front door, maybe, but on the question of their moving… Harry tuned back into the conversation, figuring he’d bring it up when the opportunity arose.

“How does Elizabeth like her new broom?” Narcissa was asking.

            Harry grinned. “She loves it.”

            “I’m glad,” Narcissa said, and smiled warmly for a second. Harry had been worried that Narcissa might need time to adjust to their adopting Ellie, but she snapped into grandmother mode the second she found out about it.

Cyg had taken a bit of convincing, what with Ellie being a few years older and complicating his status as ‘appropriately’ spoiled only child and sole Malfoy heir, but there they were, out running through the grass and waving muggle bubble wands around, and Cyg looked like he’d never been happier.

            At times like these Harry couldn’t believe he’d ever worried. Which made him wonder if Draco’d even thought of moving since he’d mentioned it to Harry so long ago.

            “I think three years should be enough for our daughter to become an excellent seeker. Four, if the heads of houses are as stubborn as they were when we were at school. Shouldn’t have trouble with that if she gets McGonagall,” Draco shot a pointed look in Harry’s direction.

            He beamed. Couldn’t help it. “She’s only gone ten feet up so far.”

            “I’m sure she’ll be at twenty within a few months. With the proper safety precautions in place, of course.”

            “Of course.” Important question, Harry reminded himself. “Draco…”

            Narcissa stood. She’d always been incredibly skilled at reading people. “I’d like to see how those work. I’m afraid my knowledge of muggle toys isn’t nearly as extensive as befits the modern grandmother.” She swept across the lawn, leaving Harry to Draco’s expectant gaze.

            “You once told me you wanted our children to grow up here.”

            “I believe I may have said something to that effect.” Draco’s voice was smooth, his expression nonchalant. “Continue.”

            “Is that still something you want?”

            Draco looked out over the lawn for a long time. Harry knew better than to worry about him answering; he waited. Finally, Draco said, “I think I like things the way they are. If you do.”

            Harry hesitated. Before he could collect his thoughts into a coherent response, Draco strode over and sprawled sideways across Harry’s chair. Which didn’t really make it easier to respond. Serious discussion, Harry reminded himself. “I don’t want you to give up on the chance for them to live here if it’s important to you.”

            “If it was that important to me, Harry, I would not have neglected to mention it. And I hardly think it’s a bad thing that our children have so many people who love them that we can’t figure out where best to live. Which, I must admit, after actually raising them partway, I think is our house. Family history or not.”

            Harry slid his arms around Draco’s waist. “Grimmauld Place’s got family history.”

            Draco threw his arms around Harry’s neck. “Exactly.”

            “And they stay here overnight quite often anyway.” Harry pulled Draco slightly closer as he said it.

            “Mmhmm.” Draco yanked Harry into a proper hug. “And it’s our house.”

            A strange thought struck Harry then. After Draco’d had his share of cuddling, he pulled away a little and looked at him. It was a look that went back seven years. Back to the beginning of everything. “Ever since that day you came over and piled your notes all over the dining room table?”

            “Yes,” Draco said, matching his expression with a brilliant smile, “I think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic! Writing it was incredibly important to me, and I can't tell you how encouraging it was to have your support along the way.


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